


Alloy

by FlipThePages



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Comfort, Domesticity, Dreams and Nightmares, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sexual Content, F/M, Found Family, Fusion of Star Wars Legends and Disney Canon, Humor, Hurt, Mandalorian Culture (Star Wars), Medium Burn, Multi, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, The Force, parenting struggles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:27:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27830740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlipThePages/pseuds/FlipThePages
Summary: (noun) – a base metallic element mixed with one or more other elements, metallic or otherwise, to create something stronger, more durable or with some other desired quality.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Original Female Character(s), The Child (The Mandalorian TV) & Din Djarin, The Child (The Mandalorian TV) & Original Female Character(s), The Child (The Mandalorian TV) & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 41





	1. The Woman

Sorgan had been an ideal choice.

An Outer Rim system that was barely the tiniest of blip on anyone’s radar. A more than suitable enough place to hide and spend a few months without the incessant compulsion to look over his shoulder every minute for Imperials or hunters. But he knew they would come eventually. The Imperials had been well funded by whomever their benefactor might have been and he knew that the fobs had definitely been made active once more. Guild Hunters from Nevarro and possibly other hubs would follow the trail. He could only hope that this was far enough out of the way to throw them off the scent for a while.

The planet had a breathable atmosphere and was lush with verdant forests, a myriad of swamplands and was filled to the brim with flora and fauna, along with expansive system of lakes that spanned the whole world. But above all, and the deciding factor, was that its population was minimal. Small farming communities were scattered few and far across the surface with no sign of any sort of industrialization at all. No space port and only the most basic of landing areas marked out in naturally formed clearings surrounding the largest of the dozen or so villages on his initial series of scans.

Yes.

Sorgan would do just fine as a place for the Mandalorian to lay low with the Child for a month or two.

The very same little, green monstrosity, which had been keen on investigating every switch, button and lever it could reach in the cockpit with its clawed three-fingered hands, that now sat on his lap. It – or rather he, as his new keeper had discovered – cooed and babbled incoherently with apparent joy. Those big ears of his flickering and angled forward with interest and with his tiny arms outstretched towards the transparisteel canopy as they broke through the atmosphere. The gunship gliding down in a gradual descent towards the lower layers of the atmosphere to search for a suitable place to land that was not too distant from what seemed to be the largest of the villages.

It should have been unsurprising that the Child was eager to accompany him onto this new world, toddling along as quickly as his little legs could propel him along the path. A taste of freedom that was most likely an entirely new experience for the little one. His large, green head on a swivel to take in the forest and all of its sights and sounds before craning his neck up to babble rapid-fire nonsense up at the beskar-clad giant. The very same giant, according to the Child’s standards, that had now found himself as a wholly unprepared and out-of-his-depth caretaker.

It was only after a fair amount of walking, their pace slowed so that the little one could explore to some degree, they entered the common house, the largest of the buildings, on the edge of the village. This was, of course, after they had waded through the mingling civilians, of which most were human or near-human, in the streets. Beings who only cast a harmless, curious look towards the peculiar pair of visitors.

There was no hostility to be found here for them.

Yet.

The Child wandered away to explore after they entered, but was quickly sent skittering back into the safety of his protector’s armored legs by the fierce and territorial hiss of a spotted Loth-Cat. They found a pair of seats at an empty table with a decent line of sight towards the rest of the building. However, the Mandalorian found his eyes instinctually drawn to a table some distance across the way. A table at which two women sat together.

One was facing in his direction. She looked Human. Big and muscular with dark hair, light skin and an air about that screamed that she was a fighter. There was a scowl on her face and a wary eye surveying the whole room before flickering back in his general direction every few seconds. But the other, whose species he could not even begin to guess with the hood of her leather coat covering her head and hiding her face, sat with her back to him. She was humanoid, at the very least, from what he could see of her body shape and the arrangement of her limbs. But it seemed as though, in contrast to the other, this one was entirely relaxed. Completely at ease. She was far more content to continue devouring the plate of meat skewers in front of her than paying him or anyone else any mind.

But with the ease they each seemed to have around each other they were clearly together in some sort of capacity. Friends? Partners? Business or otherwise? He couldn’t tell, but the Mandalorian wasn’t fond of the way the larger of the two was so twitchy and on-edge. It was suspicious behavior on her part and it more than got his hackles up with the instinctual feel of potential danger.

Another woman – older and Human – approached with a practiced smile on her face. Was she one of the workers? Or perhaps even the owner? “Welcome, travelers. Can I interest you in anything?” she greeted, wiping her hands clean on a spare rag folded into the belt at her waist.

He picked something simple and easy on the stomach for the Child from the messy scrawl that covered the expanse of the hanging menu. “Bone broth. For the little one.”

“Oh, well, you’re in luck,” she announced cheerily, a practiced persona of customer service. “One of our patrons took down quite a large grinjer the other day, so there’s plenty to go around. Can I interest you in a porringer of broth as well?”

“Just the one.” He would eat later, in the safety and solitude of the _Crest_. Though, there was now a faint hunger that was beginning to make itself known with the inaudible gurgle of his stomach. An expected, but no less unwelcome, reaction caused by his exposure to the scents of frying noodles, bubbling brothy soups and roasting meats.

“Very well.” She began to turn as if to leave, but the Mandalorian needed information.

“Those two over there. When did they arrive?” he asked with a subtle nod of his head towards the table that seated the two women.

“I’ve seen them both here, together and separate, for the last week or so.”

“What’s their business here?”

“Business? Oh, well, there’s not much to do by way of business on Sorgan, so I can’t really say.” The woman shifted and a nervous sort of laughter escaped from her mouth. She wasn’t lying, but she also wasn’t telling the whole truth. Maybe a bit of a bribe would loosen her tongue, but the clink of credits on the wooden table did not pan a favorable result. “Neither of them really strikes me as log runners. Well, thank you, sir. I will get that broth to you as soon as possible, and I will throw in a nice flagon of spotchka just for good measure. I will be right back with that.”

The woman moved away, after pocketing his unnecessarily spent credits, to tend to their order and the Mandalorian was left looking over at an empty table. Both of the women were gone, empty glasses and plates left in their wake, and he hadn’t even seen them leave. That was bad. He needed to find them and find them now. They could be hunters and he had brought the Child right to them. They would have to be eliminated and then he and the Child would return to the _Crest_ and leave Sorgan in their wake.

He rose to storm towards the exit, a hot line of curses in a variety of languages running through his mind, taking time to flick a coin towards the serving woman to look after the kid in his absence. She could mind the little womp rat while he took care of this unexpected bit of business. The curtains above the doorway flapped open as he bulled his way through and began casting his gaze to the left and right in search of his new quarries.

The forest line was clear. Not a single soul in sight, but a quick activation of his helmet’s thermal vision unveiled that a pair of someones, definitely the two women by the boot prints, had gone to the left. The glowing pair of tracks led down a narrow path between the common house and another building. He followed, one hand hovering over the holster of his blaster pistol, ready to draw at a moment’s notice.

And then the tracks ended without warning and before he could look around for any other signs, a heavy pair of boots slammed into his chest from above. The Mandalorian caught sight of his assailant for a fraction of a second – it was the larger of the two women – before a gauntleted fist smashed against the side of his helmet with an audible clang. Stumbling back against a building, she pressed forward with a jab as he tried to regain his center of balance, twisting to launch a fist into her side and push her back.

She was well-trained and a born brawler, he thought idly, as they exchanged heavy-handed blows. She broke his grip, launching a forceful knee into his gut, to hit squarely just beneath the lowest edge of his chestplate. Enough power behind the attack that the Mandalorian was glad to have not eaten anything recently. Kicks, grapples and punches lashed out, until a hammered fist against the side of his head had him sprawled out in the dirt with a ringing in his ears and throbbing ache beginning to build in his skull.

With a groan and a gesture, the flamethrower at the end of the Mandalorian’s right gauntlet ignited, but was weighed down beneath a booted heel as this hostile woman settled her weight over him to pin him. He grappled for her head and throat to try and force her up and away, before pulling at one of her legs to upset her balance as he rolled on top of her. But she kicked up with both of her feet into his gut, pushing with all the strength of her coiled legs, and he was sent tumbling up and over her head. But, despite the jostling movement, each somehow maintained a firm grip on the other’s forearm.

Blasters were out in a flash and primed to fire with a click of the safeties being disengaged. But before they could fire – the Mandalorian assured that her shot would bounce of his helm while his own would sear a hole straight through her skull – there was a series of three unexpected noises that interrupted their heated duel to the death. A pair of boots shifting in the dirt, a low and bestial sort of growl from deep in something’s chest and the faintest sound of innocent slurping. The two sprawled on the ground looked over and slowly up at the trio of spectators that had appeared from the proverbial ether.

First, the mysterious Child, with dark eyes wide and ears perked with curiosity and awe as he sipped and slurped at his rapidly depleting bowl of bone broth. The second, a massive and dangerous looking feline-esque creature that the Mandalorian had no name for. It had a finely scaled and leathery looking hide of dark bluish-purple with patches of metallic-hued gold and silver striping across its broad back and very muscular limbs. Coupled with a bright blue-green maw filled with pearly fangs set on display as the monstrous animal yawned and cast its bright yellow-eyed gaze downward at his oblivious charge.

And the third…

The third was the second woman.

The hood of her coat, a knee-length garment that was dark blue in color, was pulled back just far enough for the light of the sun to illuminate the aesthetically pleasing visage of a female Zabrak. One who looked to be in her early or mid-thirties by the faint signs of aging he could see. The subtle lines and creases of skin beginning to form at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Her hair looked dark – most likely black in color – as wavy locks spilled out from the opening of her hood and hung in contrast against the lightly tanned skin of her face and neck. Skin that was marked most distinctly with the traditional tattoos of her people and the crown of vestigial horns he could see sprouting from her forehead. But what captured the Mandalorian’s attention the most was the vibrancy of her violet and indigo eyes and the all too amused smirk pulling at the corner of her full, pink lips.

“Are you two quite done rolling around in the dirt like children?” she asked in unabashed amusement. Her voice was low and smooth, flavored with an accent he could just barely recognize as Coruscanti.

What in the Void was a Core Worlder doing on an Outer Rim skug hole like Sorgan?

“Baceka,” the first woman groaned out, breaking free of his loosened grip and climbing wearily to her feet. The Mandalorian followed her example, gaining his own feet and looking warily between the three newcomers and wondering what they might have in store for him and the Child. “It’s about time you kriffing showed up.”

“You hardly needed my help, Cara,” the Zabrak claimed bluntly as she reached out to rub her right palm, clad in a glove that left the upper half of her fingers exposed, across the head of the monstrous predator at her side. A creature whose head while seated and upright would have perhaps come level with the center of her chest. And she was not a particularly small woman. “And besides, between Bhagya’s return and being ambushed by this little one, I had my own hands quite full.”

“Just who are you two? And what the hell do you want?” the Mandalorian demanded, feeling irked by the way both of the women – seemingly named Baceka and Cara respectively – were now ignoring his presence. Not to mention that he was growing increasingly worried over the fact that the Child was now giggling merrily as the grayish-black nose of the beast pressed onto the top of its wrinkled, green head as it drew in heavy inhales of the kid’s scent.

“My name is Baceka Eklo,” the Zabrak introduced with a polite nod of her horned head. “This is my companion, Bhagyamani,” She patted the hand that still rested atop the animal’s head a couple of times. “And this is my friend…” She trailed off and glanced over at the other woman with obvious meaning.

“Cara Dune,” the other said gruffly, rubbing one of her hands along her jawline to soothe the pain of a freshly forming bruise. “Can we go back inside now since it’s obvious we’re not going to be killing each other anytime soon?”

But the Mandalorian still had his reservations, even as Cara turned on her heels and began to walk with a halting gait back towards the common house. At that very moment he just wanted to scoop up the kid and make for the _Razor Crest_ as soon as possible. “Now wait just a second. I’m not going anywhere with either of you. Just give me the kid and forget you ever saw us.”

“Neither of us is your enemy, _beroya_ , nor are we any sort of threat to the youngling,” the Zabrak said in a tone that brooked no argument. Her previously amiable demeanor fading into one of mild affront for the briefest of seconds before switching back to a more neutral expression.

It startled him profoundly to hear such fluid usage of _Mando’a_ out of the Zabrak’s mouth. To hear her name him by his chosen occupation in the language of his people was strangely soothing in a way he couldn’t rightly explain.

How did she know it? Who had taught it to her?

The Mandalorian was pulled from his thoughts as the beast, finished with sniffing the Child, focused its predatory gaze on him. Irises a bright shade of golden-yellow with a horizontal squiggle of inky black for a pupil. No longer pinned under the beast’s nose, his little, green charge, with only the briefest of glances spared in his direction, toddled over to the Zabrak woman’s legs with his arms held up. A clear signal that he wished to be picked up, even as one of his little clawed hands still carried what was now a very empty bowl.

“Now why don’t you come in and sit with us for a little while,” she said, hefting the babbling and cooing child into her arms with a great deal of practiced ease to settle him against her chest. She ran the tips of her naked fingers along the edge of one of his enormous ears and the Child giggled and swatted at her hand playfully as a soft smile bloomed on the woman’s face. “I know for certain that this little guy is still quite hungry and would definitely not say no to a second serving of broth and maybe a small serving of shredded meats.”

An uncanny sense of reassurance swept over him at incredible amount of care she clearly took with the Child in her arms and he found himself roughly nodding his head in acceptance of the offer. The kid liked her. That was more than obvious. And he was clearly equally fond of her monstrous companion animal. The Mandalorian would be ready for trouble, as he always way, but what could be the harm in taking a few minutes to actually achieve some semblance of relaxation.

They entered the common house, which fell eerily quiet for a few moments at the sight of the Zabrak’s beast, before they all quickly enough returned to their meals, drinks and conversations. Though, the serving woman from before gave the Zabrak and the creature a particularly lengthy staring down. Dune had seated herself at the table the Mandalorian had chosen earlier and the two adults and child were quick to join her and settled into an unfortunately awkward sort of silence.

“So, what’s your story? Where’d you learn to fight like that?” The Mandalorian eventually asked Dune, taking note of the tiny Alliance symbol inked beneath her left eye, just after the Zabrak stood up. The horned woman nimbly stepping over her sprawled pet to fulfill her generous offer to purchase a second helping of food for the Child and, so it would seem, a drink for herself.

“I was a Shock Trooper for the Alliance. Or I suppose it’d be the New Republic now. Same difference. Ended up seeing most of my action mopping up after Endor. Mostly Ex-Imperial Warlords. Big guns wanted it all done fast and quiet. They’d send us in on the dropships. No support. Just us,” Cara explained, looking up at her friend rejoined the table and placed a second bowl of broth and platter of shredded meat in front of his charge. “Was how I really got to know Baceka here as she tagged along on a lot of those drops with the company.”

“You a Shock Trooper too?” he asked the Zabrak woman.

The very same woman, who had elected to cast her hood off of her head and fully expose the crown of pale grayish-brown horns that ran around her head and the full expanse of her tattoos. Two horns down the center of her forehead and another matching, but smaller, set of pairs emerging from well above her eyes and just touching the edge of her hairline. The largest of her horns grew from her temples, gently curving outwards and up, with another two pairs of smaller horns growing further back on her skull. The pointed tips just barely emerging out of the thick, wavy curtain of her opalescent black hair.

Twelve horns in total. At least, that he could see.

The starkly black colored tattoos ringed around her central horns and were connected by a thick line that trailed further downwards to end between her eyes in a delicate point. Thinner, curving lines cut through the middle of the smaller horns above her eyes, passing through her uncommon eyebrows and down to just barely touch the upper lids of her exotically blue-ringed violet eyes. The line began again at the outer corners of her eyes with a thick bar inked horizontally towards the middle of her lower eyelid before cascading in a smooth curve across her cheeks to the disappear and end beyond edge of her jaw.

He likened them to the trail that tears might take were she ever to shed them.

“No,” she shook her head in reply, before tucking a stray ribbon of hair back behind the horns at her temples. “I was an Intelligence Agent during my tenure with the Rebel Alliance. But I was a skilled enough combatant that I was often sent with the Troopers to procure further intel from their targets.”

“Skilled enough,” Dune scoffed. “Kriffing hells. Selling yourself a bit short there, huh, Eklo?”

“Yes, well, what sort of Intelligence Agent would I be if I boasted to the galaxy about how I can break a Trandoshan’s knees seven different ways,” the dark-haired Zabrak shot back with a wry sort of grin, before shooting a particular pointed glance at her human companion. “Or perhaps how I can be locked into a room with a dozen Stormtroopers and come out alive on the other end when a certain someone finally managed to slice the door back open.”

Dune scowled. “That again? You’re never going to let me forget about that are you?”

“Hardly. Why would I ever do such a thing? It has so much potential for later use.”

As amusing as watching their banter was, the Mandalorian made the decision to keep the conversation moving along, no matter how oddly comfortable he felt just sitting there and listening to the two talk. He cleared his throat pointedly and interrupted their bickering, which seemed to work well enough in drawing both of their attentions back to the matter at hand.

“But then was the Imps were gone,” Dune continued after a brief moment of remembering what she had been talking about, while Baceka took a small sip of her drink. “And then the politics started. We were turned into peacekeepers. Protecting senatorial delegates and suppressing riots. Not what I signed up for. So, I went AWOL and bounced. Baceka had ended up resigning around the same time and ended up offering to give me a lift off-planet to wherever I wanted to go.”

“How’d you two end up here?”

“Let’s just call it an early retirement for the both of us,” she said vaguely and took a gulp of her own bowl of broth. “So, look, I knew you were Guild. I figured you had a fob for one of us. Or both. That’s why I came at you so hard.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured,” he said.

“Well,” Dune announced as she polished off the rest of her bowl, set it down and stood. “This has been a real treat but, unless you wanna go another round, one of us is gonna have to move on. And we were here first so that means that you’re getting the boot.” She turned to her friend. “I’m heading back to the _Hawk_ for the day. Meet you there.” And then made her way to the exit and vanished beyond the thick, yellow curtains of fabric.

“I apologize for Cara’s gruffness,” Baceka, who had remained seated at the table, said a few moments later as her lips thinned in thought. “It is her way and we’ve had a particularly rough time of it lately.”

“I understand. Wasn’t offended. It’s a smart decision,” the Mandalorian admitted honestly, though he was ultimately loath to move on from Sorgan. It had been such a good planet to hide on. But he and the Child would just have to make due and find somewhere else to lay low.

The little, green womp rat had since finished his meal. The second bowl of bone broth gulped down and the shredded meat shoveled into his mouth with boundless joy. Those big dark eyes which had since been focused on the woman across the table now turned and looked up into his own through the visor. “Well, it looks like this planet’s taken,” he said with a hint of resignation to his innocent charge.

The Child cooed, ears rising as it was spoken to, before looking back across the table and babbling his intelligible nonsense to the alien woman that seemed to have struck his fancy. It wasn’t hard to see why she had so thoroughly caught the little one’s eye. Even for her species she was particularly striking.

“He is quite chatty, isn’t he?” she said with a soft smile, reaching a hand across the table to meet the grasping claws of the child with her own fingertips. “I would assume it is because of him that you are on the run?”

“What makes you think we’re running?”

“Why else would you come to Sorgan? Why else would you have so doggedly followed after us when we left? Was it not an attempt to eliminate what you saw as a potential threat to you and yours?”

The Mandalorian kept his silence and it was close enough to an actual answer that the woman nodded in acceptance of the answer that she must’ve already known was correct. Her vibrant eyes flickered over towards him quickly, their piercing quality making him feel as though his helmet might as well have been off. But before her gaze could make a sense of unease churn in his gut, her attention was pulled rather quickly back towards the Child, who was energetically vying for her attention once more.

“Mmm,” she hummed lightly, wiggling her fingers and moving her hand slowly from side to side as the little green paws flailed in an attempt to capture them. It was entrancing to watch how easily this strange woman played with the Child and how utterly enthralled with her the little one was. Did she have children of her own somewhere out in the galaxy?

“Does he have a name?” she asked after a moment of pause.

“No,” he answered shortly. “Or at least not one that I’m aware of.”

“And do you?” she asked, with a raised brow as she shifted in her chair, managing to meet his eyes beyond the visor with an unerring accuracy, all the while still amusing the child with their game.

“What?”

“A name,” she explained. “Do you have one?”

“Yes.”

“And will you share it?” she asked.

“No.”

“Very well,” she accepted graciously, even as the softest of frowns pulled at her lips and her eyebrows, which were a particularly uncommon trait in most Zabrak but not entirely unheard of, furrowed slightly. She pulled her hand back across the table as the Child, having exhausted himself with playing and feeling the effects of a full stomach, had slumped back down in his seat and looked be well on his way to falling asleep. “I must admit you are by far the most peculiar Mandalorian I have ever met.”

“You’ve met other Mandalorians?” he asked, wondering if it was those that she had met and most likely befriended that had taught her their native tongue. Was it with them that she had learned where their eyes lay hidden beyond the tinted visor? So many questions he found himself wanted to ask her for no apparent reason other than he enjoyed speaking with her. Enjoyed listening to her voice.

“Oh, yes. Several of them, in fact. Though, none in recent memory. But they are not people that are easy to forget. But even compared to them you are… different. Unique.”

“How so?”

“That is…” She paused, shifting in her seat as she clearly was trying to come up with the appropriate words. “It’s hard to explain. It’s just a feeling I have. A first impression of sorts. However, it still stands to reason that you’ve been far more polite than the others of your kin that I’ve met in the past. And you certainly haven’t waved a weapon in my direction yet,” she teased lightly. “But we’ve only just met and perhaps that will change.”

Their table fell quiet after her last words as the Zabrak took another sip out of her nearly empty glass. And yet, the Mandalorian, who so often preferred and thrived in moments of silence, found himself wanting to keep this woman talking. He scrambled through his mind for something else to ask and found his lacking experience in non-business-related conversation a critical handicap.

“So,” he began, latching onto the slightest of ideas and hoping that she would indulge his curiosities. “Why has the former Rebel Intelligence Agent settled on Sorgan? Looking to retire like Dune said?”

A softly sad expression crossed over her face and he internally cursed himself for souring her mood. “Perhaps,” she answered. “I’m still not quite sure what I’m looking for.” Her pet chose that moment to haul its massive body up off of the floor, having finished its brief nap, and settled it enormous head atop the table at the woman’s elbow. A deep rumble began in its chest, too quiet and gentle to have been any form of growl or hostile vocalization. But perhaps it was rather instead a form of comfort from the animal towards its master? The woman smiled slightly and began to run the closest of her hands over the beast’s muzzle and crown affectionately. “I just knew that I had grown tired of all the fighting. Of killing. Of war in general.”

And he could see it.

Part and parcel of being a good bounty hunter was being able to read people, regardless of species. Gauge their mental state based off of their body language, their facial expressions and the even slightest changes in their speech patterns. So, he could clearly see the exhaustion she spoke of. The bone-deep weariness she now openly carried with her wherever she went. In the tone of her voice. Could see it all reflected clear as daylight in her eyes, now dulled ever so slightly from their previous state of radiance.

A change of subject was needed and the largest and most glaring topic that came to the Mandalorian’s racing mind was the creature.

“Where did your pet come into the picture?” he asked. He was fond enough of most animals. Provided, of course, that they weren’t trying to kill him, eat him or – in some cases – both. “Never seen anything like him before.”

And his plan seemed to work as the woman’s mood brightened just enough to be reflect outwardly. The slightest smile curling the corner of her lips and a fresh spark of something bright in her eyes. She turned more in her seat towards him and put both of her hands to work rubbing and stroking across the great beast’s head. It preened and rumbled under the sudden uptick of physical affection. “You’ve never seen a Dulvoyinn Bloodcat before?” she asked rhetorically, knowing that he wouldn’t have asked if he had. “Unsurprising. They’re a rare species. Found only in their home system in the Deep Core. One of only a handful or so documented amphibious-reptomammalian species in the galaxy.”

As if knowing that he was being spoken about, the feline-esque animal lifted its head from the table and turned to face the Mandalorian. A great yawn pried the beast’s maw wide open as a vibrantly greenish-blue, bifurcated tongue curled amidst flesh of an even brighter hue with a full array of ivory fangs on display. In particular, a very large and dangerous looking pair of upper canines that the Mandalorian couldn’t help but stare at underneath his helmet. An expression of awe that was dosed with a healthy appreciation that the animal wasn’t hostile towards him at that moment.

The woman’s explanation continued and he tuned back in to the sound of her voice, more than content to listen avidly to what she had to say about her creature.

“This half-mane of tendrils here along the back of his neck,” she said, moving her hands over the couple of dozen fleshy growths that writhed and curled under the gentle touch. Their outer surface was the same coloring as the rest of its hide, but underneath even smaller and more delicate growths of a vibrant purple flared and retracted in the open air. “They’re actually external gills that allow him to breathe underwater. All of his paws are webbed and the thick membrane between his primary tail and the pair of secondaries forms a sort of fin for propulsion when they swim.”

The beast basked under the woman’s touch. The rumble continuing the whole time she spoke, rising and falling in pitch and volume as those gloved hands touched, scratched and rubbed along favorable spots. For the briefest of moments, the Mandalorian felt a spark of unexpected jealousy for doting touches the creature was receiving. The desire to experience the Zabrak woman’s hands on his own body. To feel the drag of her fingertips and nails across his skin. To have her rub out the tight and twisted knots of muscle that ached always across his own shoulders, neck and back.

Perhaps even to repay the favor in kind?

He shook himself mentally. That was just his self-imposed dry spell talking. The years that he had gone without a warm body to hold and please and unwind in the company of. It was just that. Nothing more. And this was definitely not the time to be catering to his own bodily wants when he was in such a precarious position after his violent acquisition of the Child. Regardless of the fact that she was an attractive woman who seemed to have a spine of durasteel and a talent for combat hidden behind her soft-spoken and calming outward nature.

And she was still speaking about her pet.

“His species is endangered, actually. I rescued him as a cub from an illegal fighting pit on Empress Teta. Would have returned him to his homeplanet, but the fragging bastards that ran the place had sterilized him for some inexplicable reason. So, I opted to keep him instead.”

“He’s big,” he said, feeling a twitch in his hand that was eager to perhaps pet the creature for himself. Anything to distract himself from the lingering wants in his blood. Wants that he had to ignore. “Can’t have been easy to try and hide with him around.”

“Easier than you would think,” she explained with a fond smile towards the animal. “And I had trusted friends to look after him when I was on a mission that I could not accomplish with him along for the ride. And Bhagya’s actually small for his kind. A byproduct of his early castration. Males of his species should be at least half again as big as he is. They’re the apex predators of their world. Top of the food chain.”

“Impressive.”

“Very much so. As true a friend and companion as I’ve ever had. And he just loves children for some reason.” She glanced away from her pet to the soundly snoozing Child on the chair across the table. “Took to your little one there like a pack of anooba on a fresh carcass.”

The Mandalorian remained silent, not particular fond of the woman’s chosen analogy, but seeing her point nonetheless. The Bloodcat had been particularly intrigued and attentive of the Child in the alley. Though, he rather thought that it was the training the creature had undergone with the woman that made the enormous beast act as such a gentle giant.

“But, sad to say, I should be heading back to the ship for the day. Cara will worry, unnecessarily, if I linger too much longer. It was nice to meet you, _burc’ya_.” And held out her arm and open hand in a request for his own.

He was struck once more into silence as she called him a friend. Rendered mute even as he clasped her outstretched forearm firmly in a warrior’s handshake. He was a being that she had known for less than a day on this planet, less than even half a day, and she would call him a friend?

Of all the mysteries…

This woman had either been a very, very good Intelligence Agent or she had been truly terrible and only succeeded by sheer dumb luck and chance on her missions.

“And please,” she continued, rising from the table and straightening her coat to lay flat along her sides. “Do not feel the need to rush in leaving Sorgan. You are both more than welcome to stay in the area for at least a standard week. I’m sure Cara won’t mind too terribly if you drag your heels a bit.”

“I’ll think about it,” he conceded, glad to have been presented with the option.

“That’s all I ask. Perhaps we shall see you soon then if you do stay for a bit. And do be sure to take care of yourself and the little one.” She turned to her pet and made a clicking noise with her tongue. “Come along, Bhagya. We’re going home now.”

And then she and her beast were gone as well and the Mandalorian was left alone at the table with no one other than the soundly sleeping Child. Perhaps he would spend a bit of the money he still had to his name on some fresh food supplies for a decent evening meal and call it a day.

Yeah.

He’d do that and just head back to the _Crest_ and think about what they ought to do now that Sorgan wasn’t going to be a viable multi-month option.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've leapt with heedless abandon onto the Mandalorian Bus (or rather ManDadlorian Bus, am I right?) and no one can stop me. Read far too many other fics, stared for far too long at fanart galore and watched the episodes with utter glee. I've always loved Star Wars ever since I was little, but was never brave enough to post anything for a fandom that is so large and expansive and complex for fear of not doing it justice. But I guess I've gotten braver. No restrain or impulse control, have I, when bestowed with the sight of a man in beskar. I just had to pay my own literary tribute to that sexy, sexy Din Djarin and his little green bean of a son.  
> This is an experiment and I still don't quite know where it will lead me, but I've got ideas. Probably too many of them, actually. But I hope you all enjoy, regardless. There is, as of this current moment, no particular update schedule. Kind of just flying by the seat of my pants for now. And I apologize in advance for any mistakes I've made. I tend to like to self-edit rather than have a beta - too shy, ya know? - but even after three read-throughs my eyes tend to just glide along instead of catching errors. And please feel free to leave a comment on what you liked, disliked or if you happened to locate a goof. Wanna know what people think of this before I go wholesale with a writing fervor.


	2. The Disturbance

Those first moments as Baceka Eklo had risen from sleep that morning – to the soothing sounds of gentle music being played from the chronometer at her bedside and the disgruntled huff of breath from her pet in the second bunk – had been accompanied by the subtlest of disturbances.

A tingling brush against her psyche that whispered of something to come.

No specifics, of course.

Though, she supposed that she could have gone looking for answers if she had really wanted to. But it was no precognition of incoming danger. Not the unnatural roiling of her gut or the violent chill along her spine. Just a faint feeling that something was there. Traveling closer and closer towards her through the empty vacuum of space. It seemed as though it would soon be arriving on this rural backwater world and she could not help but wonder what it might be.

But the female Zabrak had gone through her morning routine with no outward deviations. Nothing to give away her musings about the mystery disturbance to her erstwhile shipmate and friend, Carasynthia Dune. The expertly trained and tough-as-durasteel former-Shock Trooper had proven to be a rather fine traveling companion. A trusted gun and fierce pair of fists to have at her back when the going got rough.

Which it had always seemed to for the nearly two years that they had taken to aimlessly roaming across the stars.

They had been smugglers and mercenaries for a time. They had been vigilantes fighting the good fight against the darkest, vilest pits of the criminal underworld. Freeing slaves and destroying shipments of contraband drugs and weaponry. In addition to forwarding encrypted packets of valuable intelligence to those who could use it for the betterment of galactic society. But in doing so they had made enemies both big and small.

Quite a lot of them, actually.

Regardless, she flowed through her stretches and katas in loose clothes and bare feet amidst the dew-covered grass in the sizable clearing which her ship had taken up residency in. Eyes closed as she let her body move in a way that it knew by heart. Her keen ears picking up on the faint sounds of Bhagyamani hunting for his own morning meal in the surrounding trees and the wind rustling through the verdant foliage. She even heard the mute shuffle and grunt as Cara stumbled out of her own bunk when Baceka came back into the ship and together they made an incredibly necessary pot of caf and broke their fast.

Baceka spent the whole of her morning out in the wilds after the morning meal. Foraging to supplement their food supplies alongside her pet and with a tentative plan to meet up with Cara later in the day in the village. Midday, with the singular sun of the star system at its zenith, found her meditating in peace atop a large boulder that she had found alongside the graveled banks of a slow-moving river.

With a bag full of sweet tubers, edible fungus and leafy greens, she had returned to the ship to put the spoils of her foraging away before beginning the trek towards the village. But it was then, as she sat in the rapidly filling common house while waiting for Cara to return from the task that she had found to occupy herself that day, that the morning’s disturbance spiked in its intensity.

It was here.

Whatever it was.

But she had been hard pressed to remain inconspicuous when she had finally caught sight of the source. The tiny and frighteningly familiar figure toddling innocently alongside a Mandalorian warrior clad in full _beskar’gam_. Baceka had been nearly overcome with the desire to launch herself from her seat, scoop the bundle of power and light into her arms and sprint off into the wilderness. But she restrained herself from acting out physically, busying herself with eating her meal and infinitely glad to have kept the hood of her coat up. Though, no matter her best efforts, she could not help but send feelers out to seek out the answers she so desperately wanted to know.

An insatiable curiosity had been her downfall more than a few times in the past.

But it was also what had made her an invaluably talented Intelligence Agent.

And it had been what made her one of the best in her field in the life that had come before then.

The Mandalorian did not react to her tentative probe of his consciousness. The slightest and gentlest graze of her mind against the surface of his own. He was a bounty hunter. Weary, fearful, worried and saddened. A riot of emotions swirling alongside a burgeoning warmth of affection that was surrounded with a sense of discomfort and centered wholly on the small green child at his heels. The Child’s mind, in stark contrast, was a colorful riot of swirling joy and growing curiosities. Strong feelings of love and trust centered around his silvered guardian. Though, there were shadowed areas lingering at the edges of his still developing psyche. The faintest impressions of erected walls and doors that she could feel but did not dare to go near.

She withdrew as she sensed two pairs of eyes fastening themselves onto her back.

Cara and Baceka left the common house while the older Human woman who owned it was distracting the Mandalorian with talk, though she felt the youngling’s curious eyes following their departure. She fled across the rooftops, swift as a suubatar on the grassy plains of Ansion, sensing that Bhagyamani was returning from the forest. Cara remained behind. Lying in wait for the hunter. They would fight. Baceka knew it with certainty and her friend had been spoiling for a real fight for weeks now since the last planet they had tried to settle on. The Mandalorian would prove a challenging opponent for the Shock Trooper to brawl with, but she would be sure to interrupt them before they managed to kill each other.

She had not anticipated on the child finding her first. Coming face to face just outside of the common house. Toddling through the curtains and straight into her path with an unerring accuracy. How astoundingly fast and coordinated he was for such a small and rather clumsy-looking creature. And how utterly enthralled with the little one her animal companion had become after barely knowing him for less than a handful of seconds.

Bhagya had the oddest, but most endearingly heart wrenching, soft spot for babies and children.

No matter his youth and apparent lack of training, the youngling clearly saw through her carefully constructed guise. The illusion that had kept her safe during the reign of the Empire. There was so much fascination coming off of him in waves as their minds touched for the first time and their similarities were shared. A connection that was only strengthened even further when he had demanded for her to carry him in her arms after the fight. However, even as she entertained the youngling, Baceka still devoted some of herself to the Mandalorian.

The youngling’s caretaker.

Feeling his shock when she spoke words in his mother tongue and using this moment of weakness to her advantage to try and seed just the slightest bit of calming influence into his thoughts. To take the edge off the panic and worry she could feel racing around in the confines of his mind and through the slightly elevated rhythm of his singular heartbeat.

Inside the common house, Cara shared her story in the most general of terms and Baceka followed her example. But then her friend left not too long afterwards and then it was just the three of them in addition to the napping form of Bhagya. She felt compelled to stay and play with the child who had so ensnared her senses. To sit and speak with the Mandalorian and ask a couple of the gently inquisitive questions she wanted to and see what she could find out about this puzzling situation.

After all, it was not every day that she was presented with a Force-sensitive child.

And yet, somehow, she ended up sharing more of herself than she found out about either of them. At the Mandalorian’s insistence, surprisingly. But what was a better way to earn the trust of another than to show it in exchange? And all the while she remained tapped by just the tiniest extension of herself into both of their emotions. The youngling knew and welcomed her gentle touch, but the man to her right seemed oblivious to the sensation. It was because of this that Baceka knew before even the barest flicker of the child’s eyelids that he was drifting off to sleep and she nudged the sweet, little thing to rest easy with a mental vow that she would most definitely see him soon.

She talked with the Mandalorian about the decision to settle on Sorgan and explaining the origins of Bhagyamani. Feeling that sudden spike of jealousy, desire and heady lust from him as she affectionately stroked the head of her Dulvoyinn Bloodcat. It was not an uncommon sensation when males, females and beings of undefined or neutral gender saw her face and body, but she found herself being surprised and oddly flattered nonetheless.

After extending the offer for the Mandalorian and his charge to remain on the planet for at least a short time, and hoping that they would take her up on it, she and her pet departed. Cutting quickly through the village, exchanging brief greetings and farewells with those who recognized her, and following one of the winding pathways to the northeast. The same that she had taken into the villager earlier in the day. All the while her mind spun and spun with endless thoughts, scenarios and wayward ideas about what this might mean for her and the galaxy at large.

The Bounty Hunter and his Child.

The Mandalorian and his Force-sensitive toddler.

What an odd pair they made.

A toddler of a species she did not even have a name for. A species that she had only seen two of before in all of her years. Both of whom were powerful users of the Force as well. Could their species be like the Miraluka? Like the Korunnai and Kiffar? Similar in nature to the several other sentient species which were all born with a profound connection to the Force?

Within her mind the pieces were just beginning to line up in some semblance of coherency.

She wondered if the _beroya_ was even aware of the unique and invaluable nature of his youngling.

Back at the ship, Baceka found Cara sitting on one of the logs they had dragged to lay alongside their firepit with one of their medical kits opened at her feet. The ex-Shock Trooper’s light armor and shirt had been cast off to the side and the Zabrak woman could see the bruises beginning to color across her friend’s skin. Blues, purples and reds were blooming on her jaw, arms and torso from the Mandalorian’s fists and feet. And yet, Carasynthia Dune looked fairly content regardless of her damaged physical state.

“Was the fight a good one?” Baceka asked once Cara had glanced up as she and her large pet walked into the landing zone, going back to treating her injuries as the female Zabrak settled down on the log. Bhagya joined them as well, sprawling out by their feet with a particular lack of grace and the meaty thump of his considerable weight before rolling over onto his back in a request for further attention.

What a spoiled creature she had raised from cubhood.

“Good enough to take the edge off,” Cara said, rubbing a fair amount of a low-dosage bacta salve into her bruises. It would seep through the pores of her skin to ease the pain and help promote healing throughout the damaged tissues. Bruises that would’ve taken a couple of weeks to heal and fade would now most likely be gone in a matter of days with consistent applications.

“Better than our own sparring sessions?” Baceka asked curiously, having missed the majority of the fight between the Mandalorian and her friend. A shame. It would have been interesting to see the armored warrior in action. To gauge his prowess with her own eyes in comparison to the others of his kith and kin that she had met and seen. “I was under the impression that it actually took you a great deal of effort to best me in combat?”

“You fight differently, Eklo, and you know it. You might have all that grace and agility, but you’re no down and dirty brawler.”

The Zabrak woman huffed loudly, doing her best to the hide the grin that her friend’s praise may or may not have sparked. “I’m can’t decide whether or not I should be offended.”

“Shut it,” the dark-haired woman grumbled as she now applied a light coating of the salve to her cheek and jaw. “You know you’re a better fighter than me. Seven out of ten times you’ve got me dead to rights in a dozen moves or less. But this guy… Packed a helluva mean punch and that armor of his was nothing to scoff at. Forgot what is was like to take a real hit from someone in full armor.”

Baceka looked down towards her pet, leaning forward just enough to scratch her neat and filed nails down Bhagya’s exposed underbelly a couple of times to please her companion. “It was _beskar_ ,” she stated softly, feeling old memories beginning to rise from the dustier corners of her mind.

“What was?” Dune asked.

“His armor,” the Zabrak woman clarified while pushing her memories away. Reminiscing could come later in the sanctity of her private quarters. “It was made of Mandalorian iron. Called _beskar_ in their language. Incredibly durable to nearly all forms of damage – blasters, blades and more – and also as versatile in its usages as it is strong. Far better than durasteel. Possibly even better than cortosis or phrik.”

Her friend hummed thoughtfully, screwing the lid back onto the jar of salve and setting the medical kit back to rights. “Really now?” Dune asked, remaining in a partial state of undress to allow the salve to soak into her skin without being disturbed by any rubbing fabric. “So, do you think he’s the real deal then?”

“I believe so.”

A dark furrow appeared between Cara’s brows as she sank into thought and a frown began to pulled her lips downward. “Do you think we need to leave?” she asked lowly, eyes glancing around the tree line as if expecting enemies to appear from the foliage.

“Not at all,” Baceka said, seeking to assuage her friend’s rising anxiety. “Sorgan is still safe for us.”

And yet, Dune, who had calmed somewhat, still looked ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. “How can you be sure? I’d bet you half a case of Corellian brandy that this guy has bad news written all over him.”

“Careful, Cara,” the Zabrak woman admonished softly. “Your paranoia is showing.”

“After that shit-show on Falleen and then the shootout on Kabal can you blame me?” Cara asked with eyes wide and her arms spread. “We’ve had trouble follow us or find us on nearly every planet we’ve landed on. Almost every job we’ve taken has had something go wrong.”

Baceka bowed her head in acceptance. It was true. Bad luck nipped at their heels more often than not. “I see your point, but we are still safe here. For now, at least. We’ll leave if trouble does end up finding us, but until then we ought to take advantage of this time to rest while we’ve got it.”

“If you say so,” Dune grumbled, choosing to distract herself with the openly presented belly of the Dulvoyinn Bloodcat. “You’re certainly better at these sorts of decisions than I am.”

Silence took over the clearing as both women were left to their thoughts. Cara taking to pampering Bhagyamani as she calmed herself and Baceka just enjoying the peaceful sounds of the forest. The time for heavy thoughts and big decisions was later. After their evening meal and after Cara had retired for the evening. Though, Baceka knew that the dark-haired Human woman would not sleep until well into the night cycle with her current fixation with a lengthy and convoluted holodramas series.

But it would be privacy enough for her seek the solace of meditation and search for answers.

Their evening meal was a sautéed dish containing a mixture of the blue krill native to Sorgan, whose meat was light and sweet with an almost fruit-like aftertaste, and some of the root vegetables that Baceka had dug up earlier in the day. They ate their fill, more than grateful that Sorgan was plentiful with edible flora and fauna, and settled down around their fire as the sun began to set and the dark of night closed in.

Bhagyamani, in the growing dusk, prowled into the forest to seek his own meal. Though, the great brute had also been more than willing to sit alongside Baceka as she ate and look longingly at her plate until she had caved – as she always did – and fed two of the delicious crustaceans to the shameless beggar.

But as night fully closed in and the sky was only lit by the two moons and the cold light of hundreds of glittering stars, Baceka rose from her perch on the log by the now merrily crackling fire. She collected their empty dishes with the intention to go and run them through the cleaner and turned to go back into the _Azure Kitehawk_ for the evening.

Her ship. Her home. Ironically commandeered during her daring escape from Empress Teta with a crying Dulvoyinn Bloodcat cub swaddled in her arms.

Formerly a vessel that was nothing more than a slightly modified model of light freighter from Koros Spaceworks, the primary shipbuilder of the Empress Teta system. But under her ownership, with the resources she could procure from her friends and allies, the freighter now seemed far more like a well-armed corvette than any sort of cargo carrier. Renamed with a combination of the two dearest things she remembered about Alderaan, which had been a sanctuary to her after a great tragedy and trauma. The intense and vibrant blue of their skies on fair weather days and the finely feathered and sweet-natured avian species that had danced on tapered wings through that very same sky.

However, just as Baceka closed the cleaner and activated its sanitization cycle, the familiar energy of the youngling tickled across her consciousness. He was reaching out with a tentative sort of curiosity, almost as if he was unsure of himself, and she knew that he was looking for her. He was accompanied by the Mandalorian, of course, as well as two other lifeforms that she did not recognize. A quick touch of her mind against his own with a trained command had Bhagyamani returning to the ship from the remnants of his evening kill, having eaten more than enough to be satisfied.

Something was afoot.

Baceka waited inside the ship for several moments, probably for a bit longer than she should have, as she hemmed and hawed over how to explain the situation to Cara without further riling the woman. The last thing she wanted was to startled her friend into taking a war footing unnecessarily. The Zabrak knew that the youngling and his keeper were no threat to them and neither were the inhabitants of Sorgan.

“We’ve got visitors,” Baceka decided to announce as she exited from the ship, rousing Cara from the half-doze she had slumped into beside the fire. “Passive sensors picked them up.”

“What? Who?” Dune asked as she felt at her waist for her blaster pistol, but before the Zabrak woman could scramble to think of an answer that would calm her friend the shining silver of the Mandalorian’s _beskar_ caught the light of the fire.

“You!” the former-Shock Trooper snarled, bringing the barrel of her pistol up but the armor-clad man held his arms up and hands out in a sign of surrender. Baceka took note of a rough bundle of cloth in his right hand which, after a second of not being shot on the spot, he tossed onto the ground and it rattled with what she assumed was money. The youngling was present as well, being carried along at the Mandalorian’s side in a leather satchel, his ears wiggling up and down and his six little fingers grabbing at the air in her direction. She smiled and discreetly wiggled two of her fingers in his direction as a wave.

“Ready for round two?” he asked Cara, before his helmet swung in her direction, barely even reacting as Bhagyamani prowled out of the dark and sat himself at Baceka’s side. “Got a situation I could use your help in dealing with.”

Dune remained quiet, but looked to be thinking over the offer, but the Zabrak woman took it upon herself to ask just what it was that he needed help with. “And what would you need us for, _beroya_?”

“Farming village to the southwest got hit by Raiders. Need someone to deal with them. Figured that three guns would be better than one.”

“How many?” Cara asked.

“Don’t know.”

Baceka hummed thoughtfully. “What would Raiders want to take from a farming village?”

“Their harvest. They’re krill farmers. Make spotchka.”

“So, both their food source and their source of income,” Cara stated bluntly.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

She looked to Cara and saw the woman give a slight nod of acceptance and returned it.

Decision made.

They would help the village; despite the disruption it would be to their self-imposed attempt at rest and relaxation in the middle of nowhere. Baceka also thought that it would be a good opportunity to try and spend more time with the mysterious youngling. The very same youngling who had begun to coo and babble in baby-speech at her and was quite insistently reaching out towards her with his mind.

“Okay. We’re in,” Dune announced as she clambered to her feet and proceeded to extinguish their fire, burying the half-charred branches beneath a hastily kicked and stomped on mound of dirt.

“Just give us a few minutes to get ready,” the Zabrak woman said and turned towards her ship with her Bloodcat at her hip.

It did not take long for the two women to stuff a couple changes of clothing along with a myriad of other traveling supplies into their rucksacks, pack up one of their more fully stocked med-kits and gather their weapons. Though, in an unusual turn of events, Cara was prepared and exiting from the ship far sooner than Baceka was. The Zabrak woman had unlatched one of the storage trunks that had been hidden away underneath her bunk and was contemplating the sight of another box within it. It was half-buried beneath several blankets and miscellaneous knick-knacks from a slew of different planets. The box was not terribly large and rectangular in shape, made of reddish-brown wood polished to a high shine with a simple latch of bronzed metal to hold it closed.

She shook her head, feeling the heavy whip of her now braided hair thump against her back.

No.

They would not be needed for this.

A trio of blades, a pair of blaster pistols, her heavy blaster rifle and a telescopic electrostaff, that she had pried from the mangled, sparking hands of an IG-100 Magnaguard on Nar Shaddaa, would be more than enough for some Raiders. The woman then quickly checked herself over, visually and by touch, to make absolutely certain that she had everything she needed on her person. Clothing, armor and weapons.

It was always far better to be prepared, perhaps even over prepared, for any possible eventuality.

She now wore an outfit that was well suited to both traveling and combat, made of sturdier stuff than the long blue coat and soft fabrics of her earlier clothes. A pair of black boots with a tread designed for traction along with a pair of comfortable and durable trousers in a muddy brown color. Her upper half was clad in a long-sleeved, wrap-tunic in dark green and over the top of that was an armored vest made of thick material dyed a very dark shade of blue. A rather heavy garment that was held closed by a row of buckles along each of her sides and lined with padding as well as thin plates of tempered durasteel. Layered plates of similarly forged durasteel also guarded the backs of her hands and her forearms in the form of a pair of vambraces in addition to her usual pair of fingerless gloves. And over the top of it all she had chosen to wear a worn, but functional, black jacket made of synthleather.

Her weapons were scattered across her body. There was a larger vibroblade sheathed across her chest and two non-vibro knives shoved into sheaths sewn into the insides of her boots. The pair of blaster pistols – gifted to her by a dear friend who had no longer wanted them – were holstered and strapped to her thighs and held up by a thick belt that wrapped around her waist. And finally, the solid bar of the electrostaff in its shortest possible form was firmly magnetized in a horizontal position just below the hem of her jacket to the very same belt.

And that was everything that Baceka thought she would need.

She shouldered her bag of clothes and toiletries on her right side and grabbed the carrying strap for her blaster rifle with her free hand, making her way towards the exit ramp. The Zabrak woman then stepped out into the crisp, but comfortable, evening air with Bhagyamani trailing obediently at her heels.

A land transport – piloted by a droid and illuminated by a lantern on a pole, with two strange men sitting near the front with expectant looks on their faces – had now been parked in the clearing. Cara and the Mandalorian were leant up against the back and were clearly just waiting on her. She was quick to join them after closing the ramp of the _Azure Kitehawk_ and locking the ship down from an easily concealable control pad that wrapped around her left wrist like a bracelet.

“Ready?” the Mandalorian asked and Baceka nodded her head sharply.

He shifted out of her way as she tossed her bag into the back of the transport and leapt nimbly aboard. She chose to settle herself against the wall of crates and containers stacked up in the middle as Cara followed behind her. However, the Mandalorian paused for a moment to extract the youngling from his satchel and deposit him in the transport before hauling his armored mass into the transport’s bed next. It was only Bhagyamani who remained on the ground in that moment and for a second Baceka was worried that her dear companion would be forced to walk the whole journey.

That would simply not do.

Though, admittedly, the two of them had walked far longer and through far harsher environments than Sorgan’s more than a few times in their years together.

“What’s the weight limit for this transport?” she asked one of the strangers at the front, rising up on her knees to peer over the wall of crates and containers that separated the front from the back.

“Don’t you worry. It’s a tough old thing. Hauled plenty of loads of logs around. Your pet should be just fine. Would be more concerned about finding space rather than dealing with the weight to be honest.”

“Oh, I’m sure we can manage tight quarters just fine,” she said with a thankful smile towards the two men, who she assumed were from the village that had hired their services. She turned back, seeing that Cara had shifted as far towards the edge as she could and the Mandalorian had done much the same with the little one braced against his chest. A sharp whistle and pat of her thigh had the Bloodcat leaping up and lying down in the bed of the transport with his head cushioned in her cross-legged lap and the tip of his tail just barely handing off the edge.

A tight fit, indeed. But they would make do.

“All set back there?” the other of the two men at the front called and Mandalorian confirmed that they were. The droid beeped a short sequence of binary as the faint hum of the repulsors grew slightly louder and the transport lurched forward and began to glide over the ground at a sedate pace. It ended up taking more than a few minutes for the trio of adult passengers in the back to get comfortable for the long ride ahead of them. Shifting around so as to stretch their legs out where possible and leaning back on bags and boxes for support, but they finally managed to settle.

Only a few minutes later, as Cara had taken to counting the coins in the small purse the Mandalorian had tossed at her feet, the dark-haired Human woman spoke up. “So, let me get this straight. Just to be clear. We’re running off a band of Raiders for lunch money?” She jangled the purse for emphasis, as the contents had truly turned out to be a pitiful amount of funds.

“They’ve offered to quarter us all in the middle of nowhere. Room and board,” he said, with a voice that was low and rough and just the slightest bit altered by the helmet he wore. “Last I checked, that’s a pretty square deal for a couple of people in your position.”

Baceka leant forward with her elbows braced on her knees and her chin nearly resting in her intertwined fingers. “We have a ship to live in and have had no trouble in the main village. Why would we consider relocating?”

The silver helmet turned in her direction. “Then instead it’s just a good opportunity to stretch your legs and maybe see some more action than a barfight,” he supplied. “Worst case scenario, you both get to tune up your blasters. Best case, we’re nothing more than a deterrent. Can’t imagine there’s anything living in these trees that an ex-Shock Trooper and a former Intelligence Agent can’t handle.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, _beroya_.”

Dune scoffs under her breath, kicking her legs up and over the mass of Dulvoyinn Bloodcat in the center and wiggling back into a pile of bags to make herself more comfortable. “Fine, fine. I’m gonna get some sleep then. You kids be sure to behave yourselves. No funny business in front of the baby.”

“You’re hilarious, Cara,” Baceka deadpanned. “Truly the avatar of comedic genius.”

“I try.”

And despite being in the presence of four strangers, the Human woman as quick to fall asleep and stay asleep. Undoubtedly, she trusted in Baceka and Bhagyamani to keep her safe. Though, the Bloodcat was also being slowly but surely lulled to sleep by the relaxing power of the Zabrak’s hands messaging along his muzzle and the gentle curve of his massive skull. Trailing her fingers and nails across his smoothly scaled hide and pressing firmly into the gaps between the tendrils of his external gills. And it was just as her animal companion finally fell asleep, followed shortly thereafter by the two men at the front of the transport, that Baceka felt a brush against her mind and the faint prick of blunted claws on her left knee.

“Hello there, little one,” she greeted softly, turning her head to see that the youngling had toddled away from his Mandalorian guardian and was peering up at her with those big, dark eyes of his.

“No. Hey. I told you to stay over here,” came whispered scolding from the child’s keeper. “I tried to keep him over here,” the particular man in question said apologetically, keeping his voice down while leaning over as if to remove the invading child from her personal space. She lifted one of her hands and waved the Mandalorian’s own gloved ones away, scooping the bundle of cloth and slightly wrinkled, green skin into her arms, which he responded to with a happy burbling coo. “He likes you, I guess.”

“I can see that,” Baceka said warmly, gently diverting the eagerly grasping hands of the child away from the hefty vibroblade sheathed on her chest and allowing him to wrap his little fingers around a couple of her own. “It’s no trouble. He’s quite adorable and it’s been quite some time since I’ve held a child.”

“Do…” he began, clearing his throat before starting again and she could sense his embarrassment and hesitation without even resorting to her abilities. “Do you have any?”

“Any?”

“Children?” he elaborated, seeming hesitant and almost shy while asking.

She shook her head. “No. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just… You’re good with him.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, running her now free hand lightly through the faint dusting of short white hairs that covered the child’s head and the tops of his long ears. The youngling was settling down and glowing with contentment in her arms. She took it upon herself to lull the little one off to sleep as well. “It’s not hard to learn how to care for a youngling. A little bit of natural instinct mixed with plenty of practice. I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it in time.”

The Mandalorian stayed silent and the little one let loose a tremulous yawn against the shoulder of her jacket and nuzzled further into her body looking for warmth. It was time for him to be put to bed, though the bed of the transport was noticeably lacking in a suitably soft and comfortable spot for the child. While the armored man turned his helmeted head to survey their surroundings as they continued to coast along the trail, Baceka carefully extracted one of her spare tunics from her rucksack and eyed the hunter’s cape.

“Take off your cape,” she quietly commanded. His head snapped back as she could see the tension begin to build in his shoulders at her blunt request with apparently no context. So, she continued to explain the reasoning behind her soft-spoken demand. “And fold it to make a sleeping pad for the little one.”

His shoulders relaxed beneath his pauldrons and the heavy fabric of his underlayer. He quickly reached up to untie the knot at his throat and shifted around just enough to pull the expanse of cloth free and roughly fold it into a vaguely squarish shape. The Mandalorian placed the folded bundle in the empty spot between them as Baceka twisted at the waist and ever so carefully lowered the little one onto its surface. His face scrunched in displeasure, ears twitching and his hands clenching into tiny fists, but the Zabrak woman was quick to swaddle his small robed form with her tunic. The heavy cloth would serve well enough as a blanket and the return of warmth and the mingling of familiar scents – those of the Mandalorian and herself – worked quickly to calm him before he could wake.

Bhagyamani had been quite similar as a small cub. The fierce little creature had often forgone sleep unless he was sharing her bed, wrapped up in her arms under the blankets, or piled under things that smelt like her.

“Thanks,” the Mandalorian said, almost reaching out to touch the child on the head with one of his gloved palms, but pulling his arm back at the very last moment.

“You’re welcome. The little one needs his sleep,” she said in reply. “And you do as well. Sleep, _beroya_. I shall keep watch.” She thought for a moment that he would argue, feeling the prickle of indignation and unease from the man’s emotional spectrum, but she felt it weaken and fade away after a moment. He nodded sharply before shifting around a bit, searching for as comfortable a spot as he could despite still wearing his plates of _beskar_. However, Baceka was quite certain that he was more than used to sleeping while armored.

How odd he was.

So different than those _Mando’ade_ she knew.

The Mandalorian was slow to sink into slumber and she kept her senses tuned to watch his progress. First, he was simply relaxing and listening to the sounds of nature and the soft hum of the transport. Clearly thinking about something, but she allowed him the sanctity of his mind. But bit by bit she felt him slip into a doze, rousing a few moments later, before drifting off once more.

It ended up taking nearly half of an hour before the hunter was fully asleep and Baceka was left as the only one still conscious. She lightly brushed all of their minds to be certain, but found that they all slept peacefully enough and were well of their way to the realm of dreams. She looked with eyes and her mind and found that the surrounding forest was also clear of dangers. The nocturnal animals were minding their own business while the creatures of the day cycle slept and there were no sentient beings that she could feel.

It was now that she would be able to meditate in peace.

She adjusted herself accordingly, sliding her legs out from underneath the weight of Bhagyamani’s head to flex and loosen the muscles and joints, before scooting just far enough away to recross her legs again. The backs of her forearms resting sedately across her thighs with the back of her right hand cupped in the open palm of her left. Her breathing slowed to a measured pace, every inhale and exhale falling in tune with an internal cadence set to her by the flow of power through every living thing throughout the galaxy. Every muscle relaxing as she sank into the depths of her mind to clear her thoughts and gain clarity about what now must be done.

What questions must she ask the Mandalorian about his charge? Would he even deign to answer? Could she try to gain a moment of privacy with the youngling in an effort to see the memories he might share with her? Baceka would have to earn the hunter’s trust to the point that he would leave the little one in her care for a long enough period of time. It would be the wisest course to try learn the story straight from the source, if the child was capable of sharing it without great struggle. She knew that the doors and wall in his mind most likely had memories behind them. If they were hidden, they were likely to be unpleasant. Locked away so as to protect himself from them. If she could not see his memories, then perhaps she might just try and gauge his level of connection with the Force.

His light was strong and she had a feeling his connection would match that luminosity. But the strength of that very powerful nature also came with inherent risks. Risks that she could not bear to think of the child falling prey to. Such an innocent lifeform did not deserve such a cruel and torturous fate.

She vowed that she would not let him suffer. That she would not let him fall.

But only time would tell if she would be successful.

For the meantime, she would continue to follow her instincts and trust in the Force to guide her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just going to post this now before I dare to watch the newest episode that came out today. I have such anxiety about where Filoni and Favreau are going to take the plot with the fear that they're going to just stab me right in the chest with feelings. Like I know it will probably be damned good, because Filoni just ripped apart my emotions with Season 7 of Clone Wars, but I just want more of Din and his baby boy galivanting across the galaxy and having wacky adventures and good times. But lo, I grant you all another hefty chapter because I just can't write anything under 4,000 words for the life of me, so get used to that. And thanks so much to those of you who left kudos, bookmarked, subscribed and commented. I hope you all will continue to enjoy where this story is heading.  
> Also, do any of you think it's actually necessary for me to make a glossary of Mando'a? I would bet more than anything that the majority of you are familiar with most of the big words that have been consistently used in fics and other sources. And even if you're not and if you're anything like me you've probably got the Wookieepedia page for Mando'a open in another tab for when someone decides to throw a curveball.


	3. The Village

The Mandalorian woke with a start, to the bright rays of the morning sun, as the transport suddenly lurched to a complete stop. Across the way, Cara Dune mirrored his startled jerk into wakefulness. A quick turn of his head in a muddled moment of confusion and panic saw that the two farmers, the Zabrak and the Child were already awake and looked to have been for quite some time. The huge Dulvoyinn Bloodcat, however, was nowhere to be seen, but he found himself far more concerned by the time of day.

How had he slept for so long and so deeply?

Could this be another one of the Child’s mysterious powers at play?

The sights and sounds of the entire village coming to greet them interrupted his thoughts, even as he noticed that he felt far more well rested than he had in several weeks. Perhaps even years. There were high-pitched cheers and laughter from the approaching children, while the adults took to bowing their heads in gratitude and offered their help in unloading the transport of their supplies. Most of the young ones were drawn in by the perked ears and babbling glee of the Child, while he could see a gentle smile curling on the Zabrak woman’s face as she watched over the light-hearted interaction.

“Looks like they’re happy to see us,” he said, voice rougher and raspier than usual from sleep.

“Looks like,” Dune echoed as her own habitually stern expression fell in the presence of such innocence.

They all disembarked, the two women grabbing their things, whilst he simply shouldered his rifle and scooped the Child up into his arms. The Mandalorian followed after the villagers carrying the boxes that contained his belongings. Though, he was eventually forced to deposit the little green toddler onto the ground to walk under his own power in favor of rescuing a crate of detonators that had almost been dropped into the mud. He was led towards a building along the outskirts of the village, which he assumed were to be his assigned quarters for the duration of his stay.

Just how long that would end up being was still a matter for debate.

A tall and thin woman was inside in the dwelling, dressed in the humble blue and green garments that the villagers seemed to favor. She was occupied with tidying the space and tying back one of the shades to let in a gust of fresh air and the sunlight. She turned as he lingered in the doorway.

“Please, come in. I am Omera.” And he entered with the Child on his heels, looking around and suddenly feeling very out of place in such a domestic setting. But the woman continued to speak, playing the part of a polite and welcoming hostess. “I hope this will be comfortable for you. I’m sorry that all we have is the barn. The only spare home we had was offered to the two women who accompanied you here.”

“This will do fine.”

“And I stacked some spare blankets over here. Just in case you might need them.”

“Thank you,” he said. His response felt unnatural and robotic. “That’s very kind of you.” Then a creak of a loose board from the porch outside the barn had him spinning around on instinct, to protect himself and the Child, with his hand flying to the handle of the blaster at his hip.

But it was just a girl, who gasped and flinched back behind the doorway. The dark-haired woman hurried over with a wary look cast his way that made him feel ashamed for reacting so violently. She whispered and murmured something that he couldn’t hear clearly before returning with the nervous looking child wrapped up in her arms.

“This is my daughter, Winta. We don’t get a lot of visitors around here. She’s not used to strangers,” the woman explained, shifting her attentions towards the girl. “This nice man and his friends are going to help protect us from the bad ones.” He received a mumbled thank you from the girl, which he nodded his head in reply to. This was a new experience. Being thanked for doing his job. He was used to violence and cursing. Used to blubbering and crying and begging for mercy. Used to tricks and murder attempts.

But this?

This was an uncomfortably new experience.

“Come on, Winta. Let’s give these two some time to settle and go check on our other guests.”

It was a relief when the woman and her daughter left, a gusty exhale escaping from his mouth when he was sure they were far enough away to not hear. He needed a distraction. Something repetitive and simple to calm his mind and soothe his rising anxieties. There had been a crib provided by one of the villagers for the Child to sleep in and the Mandalorian was quick to place the little green womp rat into it before he began to organize his things.

And yet, it was well past midday by the time he had arranged the barn to his liking and had taken to cleaning his weapons and performing basic maintenance. It was then that Omera returned, her daughter in tow once more, with a platter of food in hand and politely asking permission to enter. The girl, who seemed fond of and curious about the Child, asked to feed him, which he allowed.

“Can he come out and play with us?” she then asked with a hopeful look in her eyes and despite his reservations and concern for the Child’s safety, he set the toddler onto the ground. The Child was quick to toddle after the girl and the Mandalorian was briefly overcome with second thoughts and hesitancy. But the girl’s mother was quick to step in his way, rather abruptly, and assure him once and then twice that the Child would be just fine.

It did little to calm his worries, but he relented for the meantime.

Omera was soon asking questions. Questions he had been asked countless times before. About the helmet. About his history and how he came to be a Mandalorian. And he gave her the same basic, general answers that he gave to everyone who asked that he considered at least mildly trustworthy. Though, he noted in an interesting aside that neither Cara or Baceka had asked. Both of the women had seemed to just accept things – him – for the way they were and moved on without protest.

“This is the Way,” he finished.

His pledge to the Creed.

His vow to uphold the six tenets of the _Resol'nare_.

All of the promises made by the Tribe to maintain their way of life.

To preserve and safeguard the heritage and traditions of the _Mando’ade_.

And then she left with a rather disappointed and saddened expression on her face – which he did not dare to dwell upon the causes of – and he was left to eat the food in peace. Leaning backwards into the shadows to remove his helmet in the modicum of anonymity and safety they provided. Listening and watching out of the corner of his eyes, finally free to take in the vibrancy of this world without the visor, as the group of children frolicked and played just outside. Seeing the Child join them in their revelry, which made his lips quirk up into the smallest of pleased smiles.

The kid deserved to have a bit of fun.

The meal was simple fare, but of quality and more than filling. Far, far better than the rations and nutrient bars that made up the majority of his usual diet. And, no sooner had he finished the last bite, he caught sight of the pair of armed and armored women approaching the barn with the prowling bulk of a familiar beast following in their wake. He scrambled for his helmet, knowing that they were looking for him to go on a preliminary scouting trip into the forest in search of the Raiders to gauge their strength. The Zabrak woman’s head briefly began to turn in the direction of the barn, but a high-pitched cry and a rapid-fire string of babble from the Child pulled her attention away in an instant.

“Nice timing, kid,” the Mandalorian murmured under his breath, settling the helmet firmly over his head and gathering his weapons. He left the barn just in time to see the Dulvoyinn Bloodcat sit down in front of the clustered swarm of children and be subjected to their tentative pets and pats. Watching curiously as the Zabrak patiently answered their shy questions about her ferocious looking animal companion.

“Ready to get going?” Cara asked as he came near and he nodded, but looked to where the Child had now joined some of the others – who had had their fill of the Bloodcat – in chasing after a ball made of tightly woven reeds.

“What about him?” he asked with gesture of his chin towards his charge.

“Bhagyamani will look after him,” Baceka promised, turning away from the children to join them on the sidelines. “And Winta has promised that when they are done playing, she will bring him to her mother to be looked after until we return.”

“And he’ll be safe?”

“Far safer than we are about to be,” she said with a wry sort of smile.

“Let’s just get going before we lose the light,” Dune urged, turning away and making her way towards the direction that the villagers had said the Raiders had come from.

It proved to be an easy enough task to follow the path left behind and for nearly half of an hour that is what they did in a cooperative silence. The forest floor – a thick cushion of dirt, leaves and needles – had been disturbed and torn up under the trampling of well over a dozen pairs of boot prints. Every print highlighted by his HUD as the Mandalorian scanned around for further information that would give them an edge over the enemy. The two women looked and searched with their own bare eyes, showing that they were both experienced trackers, but that came as no surprise given their backgrounds.

Baceka drew both of their attention with a short and melodious whistle. The Zabrak woman had ranged further out into the woods than he or Dune had with confidence. The Mandalorian had watched her work out of the corners of his eyes. Taking note of the way she stalked between the trees with a surprising agility and near silent footsteps. There was almost a predatory nature about the woman as she moved along in her search for information. But, he supposed, that made a fair bit of sense as Zabrak were a carnivorous species. They were well adapted for a lifestyle of hunting.

“The largest cluster of prints comes through here,” she explained as they drew near, gesturing to a clear path trod into the forest floor. A sizable trail that twisted and turned its way through the trees and off into the distance. “This is where the bulk of their force traveled to and from the village for the attack.”

“About fifteen or twenty of them by my count,” he added as his heads-up display singled out and made a running tally of the number of individual prints that it’s onboard computer could distinguish.

“I’d say they’re closer to thirty or forty,” Dune suggested, looking around and pointing out smaller lines of prints that they could now see running alongside the main trail.

Baceka nodded her head slowly. “I agree with Cara. And in any case, I would rather overestimate their numbers than underestimate them.” She took a few steps in their direction, stepping over the strangely numerous broken tree limbs that also littered the ground. Branches that upon further consideration ended up drawing all three pairs of their eyes upwards into the tree tops.

“What could have done that?” Dune asked, surveying the damage. Dozens of branches in a variety of thicknesses had been snapped and shorn and splintered right off of the trunks.

“Something big,” the Mandalorian supplied bluntly.

The black-haired Zabrak narrowed her eyes at the damage done and grimaced. “And something far more dangerous than Raiders I would bet.”

They moved onwards, following the scene of arboreal carnage, until they stumbled upon a much larger track imprinted deeply in the dirt. A uniformly grooved tread in a vaguely ovular shape that could only be one particular – and very much unwanted and terribly problematic – thing.

“AT-ST,” Dune snarled viciously, staring off into the distance at the staggered line of tracks, bent trees, crushed bushes and broken branches that lead off further and further into the heart of the woods.

“An Imperial walker,” the Mandalorian growled, gritting his teeth and squinting his eyes behind the helmet as he tried to put all the puzzle pieces together. “What’s it even doing here?” he asked.

Baceka answered his question, her voice unusually quiet as she suggested possible explanations. “The Raiders could’ve stolen it from somewhere. Or purchased it off of the black market, I suppose.”

Cara straightened up from her crouch with a frown, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. “I don’t know. But this is way more than I signed up for. Do you think the villagers know about it?”

“Yes,” he said, more than familiar with this sort of thing. “They just didn’t tell us because they didn’t want us to say no. Make the job sound easy to lure in takers and then spring the difficult parts later when they can’t back out.”

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience, _beroya_.”

A heavy gust of an exhale escapes from his mouth before he could restrain himself, with a hint of static layered over it by the installed modulator that he used to disguise his voice. “Unfortunately.”

“We should head back to the village,” Dune suggested gruffly after a moment of silent contemplation. “We’ve learned enough. And we clearly need to have a talk with the villagers about the information they’ve been keeping from us.”

The Mandalorian nodded his head in agreement, catching a glimpse of the Zabrak woman’s expression as she looked down at the walker’s track with an expression of solemn disappointment on her face. Lips pulled thin, brows furrowed and a shadow of something undefined clouding her narrowed eyes. But the three of them turned and made good time in getting back to the village. Their goal being to arrive before the sunset and have a nice chat with the occupants about the direness of their situation.

They simply couldn’t hope to hold out against a walker.

The sun was just beginning to disappear behind the horizon when the Mandalorian and the two women finally reached the outskirts of the village, walking through the staggered array of rectangular ponds of blue krill. Cara began calling out loudly for all of them to gather around to hear what needed to be said and a slow trickle of adults and even a few of the children answered the summons. He was relieved to catch sight of Omera’s daughter with the Child, still as happy as he had been when they had left, in her arms and the Bloodcat hovering close by the two as their watcher.

“Bad news,” he announced bluntly after the majority of the villagers had arrived and the two women had positioned themselves to stand shoulder to shoulder off to his left. “You can’t live here anymore.”

“What?” some villagers asked.

“Why?” others echoed.

Dune raised an eyebrow and drawled sarcastically, “Nice bedside manner. Very reassuring.”

“Tell me, are you familiar with the word ‘tact’, _beroya_?” Baceka asks shortly thereafter with the faintest expression of incredulity painted across her face. “If not, you should look it up sometime soon.”

“You think either of you can do better?”

“Can’t do much worse,” Cara muttered before taking a couple of steps forward to address the crowd of restless civilians. “We know that this isn’t the news you wanted to hear, but there’re no other options.”

“But you took the job,” one of the men who hired them protested.

Dune scowls in response. “That was before we knew about the AT-ST.”

“What’s that?”

“That would be the Imperial walker with reinforced armor plating and high-powered laser cannons that the Raiders have in their possession,” the Zabrak explains, her voice suddenly stern and sharp like the crack of a whip. A clear and startling difference from her usual tone. There was almost a commanding sort of cadence to her words. A voice that when it spoke could not and would not be ignored by those who heard it. The Mandalorian almost – for the barest of seconds – felt compelled to straighten his spine in response. “That you all knew about and chose not to inform us of.”

The crowd shifted on their feet, several looking away with a nervous sort of timidity from the searing and accusatory gaze of the horned woman and Dune’s fierce scowl. That was before the braver and more desperate of their group began to attempt to plead and beg and reason.

“Help us.”

“You have to help us.”

“Please.”

“We’re begging you.”

“We hired you.”

“We have nowhere else to go.”

“Sure, you do,” Cara said, trying to give them hope and make them see reason. “This is a big planet. I mean, I’ve seen smaller. Just build a new village somewhere else.”

“But my grandparents seeded these ponds.”

“It took us generations to get to where we are now.”

Dune continued on, “I understand. Really, I do. But there are only three of us and we’re not miracle workers.”

“No, there’s not only three,” one shouted. “There’s at least twenty of us here. We can help.”

“You’re not fighters,” Cara protests. “Be realistic. There’s no way you can fight a walker.”

“We can learn.”

“We can.”

“You have to give us a chance.”

“I’ve seen that thing take out entire companies of soldiers in a matter of minutes,” Dune argued loudly, becoming more and more frustrated with the villagers’ inability to concede and listen.

Omera stepped forward with her hands wrapped protectively around the shoulders of her daughter, a stern and uncompromising expression on her wearied face. “We’re not leaving. It’s not an option.”

The Mandalorian had to admire the mother’s strength of will and her bravery. A courageousness that was seemingly shared amongst all of the others. The sheer stubbornness of the villagers. Their absolute refusal to give up their home without a fight was worthy of acknowledgment. A foolish sentiment on their part from a logical and tactical standpoint, but maybe it was one that might just end up being their saving grace in the long run.

Cara turned to Omera, now sounding almost like she was pleading. Begging them not to sacrifice their lives in a battle that the ex-Shock Trooper clearly thought was way out of their league. “You cannot fight that thing and live.”

The Mandalorian had an idea.

Maybe an incredibly stupid one, but he was suddenly feeling inspired.

“Unless we show them how,” he suggested and was suddenly under the scrutiny of two disparate pairs of eyes. Dune’s, swimming with shock and disbelief that he could even consider saying something so recklessly foolish. That he would dare to consider letting the villagers fight against the Raiders and their walker in a battle that was sure to end in nothing less than a massacre.

But the Zabrak’s…

Baceka Eklo’s eyes were saying something else entirely. A something that made the faintest sensation of warmth curl in his gut. There was a glimmer of satisfaction reflected in her indigo-ringed violet irises. The smallest smile forming at the corner of her lips as her eyes flickered from the visor of his helm before sweeping out across the gathered villagers. Listening with the slightest tilt of her head and quirk of her brow to their cries of bolstered confidence and determination to fight and protect that was theirs.

“Yes. Show us!”

“Teach us how!”

“We can do it!”

“I agree,” the smaller woman eventually stated with a nod of her head. The movement allowing a slim strand of her hair to escape from its braided confinement to dangle between the horns on her forehead. “They should be given the chance to defend themselves. The freedom to choose their own battles and defend what they hold dear. We can help them do that.”

“You’re crazy,” Dune muttered, shooting both the Mandalorian and the Zabrak a wide-eyed stare of disbelief and panic. “You’re both fucking nuts.”

“You would abandon them to their fate at the hands of the Raiders then, Cara?” Baceka barks, the volume of her voice kept low, but the ferocity of her issued challenge indisputable. There was even the slightest of snarls – parted lips and bared teeth – on the alien woman’s face.

Dune flinched slightly backwards, barely more than a twitch of her shoulders and a shift of her feet, but shook her head quickly in the negative. “No. Of course not.”

“Good. Then we help and do what we can to prepare them.”

The Mandalorian turns to the crowd to tell the villagers the new plan. “We’ll help you. Teach you what you need to know to defend yourselves. But not today. Go back to your homes for the night. Eat. Rest. We’ll start in the morning.”

“And be ready to work hard,” Eklo adds bluntly. “There’s a lot to learn and not much time to do so.”

The villagers left as they wisely heeded the advice that they had been given until it was only Omera, Winta, the Child and Baceka’s pet left behind. The Bloodcat was quick to stalk forward, eagerly shoving his head into the waiting hands of the Zabrak, who cooed and whispered sweet nothings to her animal. The young girl, with eyes wide and dark colored, scampered forward towards the Mandalorian and held the wiggling little, green toddler out.

“Here,” she whispered, still acting shy and nervous.

But he understood, no matter how vaguely unpleasant the realization that she was still just the slightest bit scared of him. It was part of his job to be intimidating. To look and act threatening to point of making those he hunted submit to the binders he would slap on their wrists and drag them away with. To listen to the demands that he made of them to sit down, shut the hell up and behave themselves. The muscle mass needed to chase those who ran, fight those who resisted and strong arm the disobedient into the carbon freezer.

It was a trait that he was incapable of getting rid of.

Not that he particularly wanted to.

“We played a lot and he ate some more,” Winta added with the briefest flash of a hesitant smile and the Child was quick to add his own two credits to the girl’s statement with a quick burst of chattering.

“Thanks,” he grunted out, taking the kid from her hands as little green hands reach out to eagerly pat the surface of his chestplate as the Mandalorian brought him in to rest in the crook of his arm.

Omera welcomed her daughter back into her arms as the girl made a hasty retreat back into a place of familiar safety and comfort, before giving the Mandalorian and the two women a grateful smile and a short bow of her upper body. “It was no trouble to look after him. But… Thank you. Thank you for allowing us to fight. For being willing to teach us and fight alongside us. It means so much. To all of us.”

“It’s the right thing to do,” the Zabrak says with certainty in her voice and Omera fixes the horned woman with a look of utter gratitude and a slightly wobbly smile on her lips.

“I will be sure to make sure that an evening meal is brought to all of you soon. Goodnight.” And then she was walking away, urging her child back towards their own home.

There was a brief moment of silence before Cara turned to settle her hip against one of the support beams of the barn’s outer porch. “Just how are we going to teach these guys? They’re civilians without an ounce of experience in actual combat. I’m still surprised that any of them can hunt. And now they want to fight against Raiders and an AT-ST? It’s crazy!”

“But not impossible,” he countered. “They’re determined and we really only need to teach them the basics. Just enough that they will be more of a help to us than a hindrance.”

Baceka nodded along as he spoke and he could almost see her mind racing, quickly adding onto his idea with an unexpected amount of elaboration and planning. She clearly had a mind that was well-tuned for tactics. “They will need some basic offensive training for fighting at range and in close quarters. We’ll have to see if any of them have any skill with a blaster and work on basic skills with a staff or spear. Simple weapons that they might already have a bit of experience with. And we’ll also have to consider what defenses we’ll need. Trenches, maybe? Or at the very least some sort of barricade to give them cover to hide behind and impede the Raiders. And lastly, we’ll need a safe place for the elderly and children to be kept during the fight.”

“That’s still a hell of a lot of work to get done,” Cara stated with a scowl. “And we don’t even know when the Raiders will return. Or if they even will. They might just target another village instead of this one.”

“They will,” the Mandalorian says with absolute confidence, remembering enough about the spread of population centers across the planet from his initial scans to be sure of it. “This one’s the closest and they still have things of value for the Raiders to take.”

“We’ll have to push them hard to learn what’s needed in time. The sooner we get them ready the sooner we can either launch a preemptive strike with the odds tilted in our favor or be somewhat prepared should they choose to attack first,” the Zabrak woman concluded, casting her eyes towards the distant tree line, towards the place where the Raiders would come from.

The Mandalorian could almost believe that she was expecting them to charge out from the growing shadows at that very moment. But there was nothing more than the faint murmurs of the villagers in their homes and the peaceful, ambient sounds of the natural world surrounding them.

Dune, with a grunt of acceptance and a sharp nod of her head, announced that she was retiring for the night. Eager to eat her evening meal and get as much sleep as she could before enduring the events of the next day, which she believed would be quite a struggle. The Mandalorian shared quite a few of her sentiments, knowing that they were about to be fighting a rather uphill battle to teach the villagers, but merely sent the dark-haired Human woman off with a bland farewell. The Zabrak and her pet made to follow, but a high-pitched squeal and whine from the Child stopped them in their tracks.

The Mandalorian glanced down and sure enough – while before the green toddler had been content to rest against his arm and doze – he was wide awake now and looking pleadingly over at the woman. Ears lowered, arms outstretched and his tiny mouth pulled into an incredibly obvious pout.

“Oh, little one, how could I have forgotten about you?” Baceka murmured, so gentle and soothing for the Child’s sake, in a near complete contrast to the tactically calculative and commanding words from before. There was a rapid transition in the kid’s mood as his ears perked and his mouth split into a wide grin as the whine became not a cry for attention but a demand meant to be answered.

The Mandalorian knew this cry well enough. Had heard it a handful of times after their escape from Nevarro in the wake of their desperate battle against the Imperials and hunters. The whine the Child made for food when he wanted it. The noise that meant he wanted to be held. To be put down to run. To play with the sphere of metal that topped one of the control levers in the _Razor Crest’s_ cockpit. A verbal expression of need and want that was now directed towards the Zabrak woman that the Child was so incredibly taken with.

“He wants you to hold him,” he explained to her, trying to now contain and not drop the wildly wiggling kid, being forced to look down to see what he was doing and finding himself scolding the Child under his breath. “Hey. Knock it off. Behave.”

“I can see that,” she said with a soft laugh, pulling her hands away from where they had been resting on top of the Bloodcat and holding them out welcomingly. “You just better give him here before he tries to make the jump for himself and gets hurt.”

“Yes. Please. Take him.”

The transition was not seamless and, as Eklo seemed to have predicted, the Child all but leapt into her arms. Cooing and babbling with his blunt claws scrabbling at the fabric of her armored vest and the leather of her jacket. The Zabrak hoisted him higher, trying to settle the youngling up against her collar but the Child wanted to go higher.

“Kid. Hey. Stop. Stop it,” the Mandalorian found himself saying with a bit of panic. He stepped forward, closing the distance between himself and the shorter Zabrak woman, in an attempt to maybe try and pull the Child away. His arms raised and gloved hands outstretched in an attempt to separate the two before something ended up going wrong.

Could the kid scratch her? Would she drop him?

He didn’t know but found himself wanting to prevent either of those two from happening. But the Child finally managed to set one of his three-fingered hands against the join of her neck and shoulder, pulling himself further up to be level with her face while the woman was forced to adjust and support his hasty climb. The Child’s free hand rose and was laid against the skin of the horned woman’s tattooed cheek with the faintest of slapping noises.

The woman’s body tensed with an almost painful sounding gasp for air. It was as if she had been struck by lightning in that very instant. Eyes, whose vibrant color had begun to grow harder to distinguish as the hour grew later, widening so suddenly to the point that he could see the whites with ease. Every muscle pulled taunt along her curvaceous form and lithe limbs locked into position at the joints.

And the Mandalorian didn’t know what to do.

The kid was using one of his powers. He could tell that much. The Child had his eyes squeezed tight and a furrowed forehead in just the same way he had looked while lifting the Mudhorn on Arvala-7. The very same expression of profound effort. But no sooner had whatever it was begun, it ended just as abruptly. The tiny green hand was pulled away from her cheek and Baceka’s body slumped into a relaxed sort of slouch while she sucked in a rather unsteady and almost rattling inhale.

He took the smallest step forward, hands still outstretched, either to catch the Child should she drop him or to try and catch her should she stumble and fall.

“Well,” the woman began after regaining her breath, a slightly dazed look in her eyes but nonetheless seeming almost unaffected mentally or emotionally. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“What?” The word was out of his mouth before he could think coherently. That was not what he had been expecting her to say. The Mandalorian was almost convinced that he was about to have the Child shoved into his arms while the former-Intelligence Agent either began to demand answers or ran away.

But no.

She just said that she hadn’t expected it.

_What in the Void?_

“He...” She paused, frowning for a second in thought as if she was trying to figure out what to say. “You are aware that he’s Force-sensitive, right?”

“What?”

“His powers? His abilities?” she asked, glancing between the Child, who looked blissfully unaware of the increasingly apprehensive moment between the two adults. Or, at least, the Mandalorian was growing uneasy. He was still waiting for a more understandable reaction from the woman, not this bizarre form of understanding and acceptance. “I would assume that you know about them, correct? That he’s used them in front of you before?”

“Yes,” he admitted, seeing quick flashes of the Mudhorn bellowing and flailing nearly a meter off of the ground. Feeling the faintest echo of the searing pain radiating throughout his chest after his old cuirass had been crushed like it was nothing. Remembering the shaking of his clenched hands around a vibroblade in his last desperate attempt to defend himself and kill the kriffing thing if it was the last thing he did.

Thinking that this was how he was probably going to die.

Until the Child ended up saving his life.

“Right. Good. It’s a rare thing.” She looked down and smiled tenderly at the little green body in her arms, adjusting him to fit more comfortably in her grasp. “He’s very special. I hope you realize that.”

“Yes,” the Mandalorian repeated, blindsided by the way that this conversation was going. How did she know this information? Force-sensitive? He’d never heard of such a thing before. It must be a rare thing. Something weird and unnatural. A genetic defect of some nature. That would make sense. “What did he do this time?”

“He shared his memories. Of playing with the other kids. It was mostly blurry and fragmented, probably because he’s still so young…”

“He’s fifty.”

“Fifty?” she asked in confusion, brows furrowed in an expression of blatant confusion.

“Years. He’s fifty years old.”

“Well…” she said, looking down at the Child as she processed the information before just shrugging her shoulders. “Still young, I suppose. Just only in the terms of his species.”

She knew something. She had to. She knew about his powers. Understood them at least somewhat. The Mandalorian seized the opportunity to ask the questions he so desperately needed the answers to. “Do you know what he is? Do you know where he could have come from? Do you…”

“No,” the horned woman was quick to say with a shake of her head, interrupting before he could ask anything else. “I don’t have the answers you’re looking for, _beroya_.”

“You knew about his powers,” he argued, determined to learn something useful.

“Only because I was born before the Clone Wars,” she hissed suddenly and he was startled into taking a small step back from her, watching as her previously amiable mood darkened into narrowed eyes and bared, pearly teeth. Though, remarkably, her gentle grip on the Child never changed and her voice remained quiet enough not to disturb him as the little one looked to be on the very verge of slumber. “There used to be a whole group of people, thousands strong from nearly every sentient race in the galaxy, with abilities just like his. But they’re all dead. Slaughtered by the Empire. Like so many others that were considered threats to the Emperor’s greed for absolute power and domination. Even your people didn’t escape unscathed, as you should well know.”

Silence reigned in the aftermath of her tirade and the Mandalorian was left reeling. He turned his head to look off into the distance as he thought. As he forced himself to digest the information that she had revealed in her hushed tirade.

A few minutes passed before there was a heavy exhale of breath from the woman and the faintest stream of muttered words under her breath that he could not decipher. He didn’t even think what she said had been in Basic. Or Huttese. Or Durese. Or any other of the handful of languages he had some amount of familiarity with. But he felt her sidle closer to his side while he held himself still, waiting to see what she would do or say next.

And yet, he somehow found himself speaking first.

“I… apologize,” he said, hardly believing in what he was saying. “I didn’t mean…”

“I know you didn’t, _burc’ya_. It’s alright,” she said. “Just… old wounds.”

He hummed in understanding, not needing her to elaborate any further.

The Mandalorian had his own share of scars.

“It’s late and the youngling is asleep,” she continued, voice kept soft and quiet so as to not disturb the precious bundle cradled in her arms. “Here. Take him and I’ll let you get settled for the night. I would imagine someone should be stopping by with your dinner soon and then you should get some rest.”

He took the Child from her arms, as gently as he could while trying his best to mimic the way she had held him. The womp rat stayed asleep, only shifting slightly and bringing one of his curled fingers up to his mouth to suckle on. The Mandalorian glanced up from the Child to find the Zabrak woman still close. Close enough that he could have reached out and cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand. Could have traced the tattoos inked into her skin, looked into her eyes as he pulled her even closer into his body.

Could have leant his head forward and graced her with the gentlest _kov'nyn_.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

He stepped back to a safer distance. A distance where his body wouldn’t betray him and his desires couldn’t so easily influence his actions. Her eyes flickered up from the Child and met his own and his heart lurched just once, before she too retreated back a few shuffling steps to widen the space and began to turn to walk away.

“Goodnight, _beroya_.”

And then she was on the move, covering ground with swift and powerful strides and vanishing between two buildings with the Dulvoyinn Bloodcat hot on her heels.

“Goodnight,” he echoed, several seconds after she had disappeared, his voice nothing more than a whisper and his head turned in the direction she had gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had made a pledge that my updating procedure would be to post as soon as the rough draft of the next chapter was completed, but I couldn't help myself once again. Impulsiveness. It's a blessing and curse. Here we've got another Din-centric POV chapter with our arrival at the village and the events that follow. Some socially awkward Din, as always, as well as some soft Din as well. And a bit more of Baceka's mystery is revealed. Well, not really too much more for you guys, but rather to our favorite Mandalorian. Or rather instead has the mystery surrounding her deepened even further. Things aren't quite adding up, right? Good. They're not supposed to. All part of the plan. And the Child just really can't get enough of our lovely Zabrak protagonist, can he? Such a sweet little green bean. Can't get enough of that kiddo, I swear.  
> Hope you all enjoyed this chapter and let's see a little bit of bravery, folks. Step up and leave a comment. I'm dying to hear what you guys are thinking about all of this. Good? Bad? Mediocre? I'm open ears to anything and everything you all might have to say.


	4. The Forest

Baceka did not sleep well that night.

In fact, she rather didn’t sleep much at all.

Even meditation, usually a practice which came so easy to her in every other moment, could barely put even the slightest of dents into the mental turmoil that she had found herself wallowing through. All because of the Mandalorian and the oblivious, but well-intentioned, questions he had asked on behalf of the youngling. But questions, nonetheless, that had made her remember. Made her dwell on the past to the point that she knew that her dreams would come to torment her. All of her worst memories dredged up from the depths to be twisted and corrupted into abject horrors and potent night-terrors.

As they always were.

So, rather than argue with a mind that clearly would not allow itself to be put to rest, Baceka had risen after only a few measly hours of tossing and turning to dress and slink out into the night. Wending her way through the village to find a good place to sit, with her electrostaff balanced across her lap, and wait for the dawn. And while she waited, as her senses did their best to keep her anchored firmly in the present, her memories were granted passage to flow forth in a controlled manner.

Baceka allowed herself to remember. Allowed herself to acknowledge the events of the past in harmony with the wisdom and teachings of her many masters, before guiding the memories back into the places where they belonged.

It was not meditation, but it was nonetheless therapeutic in all of the ways that mattered. Regardless of that fact that – as the distant horizon beyond the canopy began to glow with the bright, fiery shades of the rising sun – there were tracks of dampness running down each of her cheeks. Salt-imbued droplets clinging to the edge of her jawline, traveling wetly down the curve of her neck to be absorbed in the collar of her tunic. Accepting and allowing the beat of her pair of hearts to pulse faster within the cage of her ribs in response to her heightened state of emotion.

Such things were natural responses. Healthy and ultimately beneficial to her overall state of being.

A release that apparently must’ve been very much needed.

Bhagyamani was the first to find her. The Dulvoyinn Bloodcat padding in nearly silence over the dew-dampened ground to sit down beside her. Nudging his nose against her tear-stained face and beginning a rumbling from deep in his chest and throat. A noise that she had learn was both an expression of his concern and meant to provide her with comfort. After all, it had been scientifically proven that many felines and feline-esque species made such noises as both expressions of happiness and as a method of promoting healing. Both physical and emotional.

“It’s alright, my lucky one,” she murmured softly as she leant her weight into his solid musculature. “The past is the past. I know this. We just have to keep moving forward. Keep taking one more step. Making it through one day at a time.”

Baceka sat there with her pet and found a unique type of solace in his companionship.

She watched with unfettered content as the dawn’s light began to dapple across his lustrously colored hide. The dark bluish-purple hue of his smoothly scaled skin becoming more and more rich and vivid as the sun grew stronger. Studying and admiring the gradient of color as it went from nearly black along his spine to an almost pastel hue along his underbelly. Looking at the patches of metallic striping – which were an almost unnatural and artificial looking amalgam of gold and silver – along his forelimbs as they began to gleam and shimmer. Running one of her fingers along the thickest of the stripes as it began to subtly reflect the pale brightness of the rising solar rays.

What a glorious creature her little Bhagyamani had grown up to be.

So fierce and strong and compassionate.

The sounds of the village coming to life began to rise in volume from behind her, until a pair of boots crunching over dirt and grass interrupted her sedate musings. She rubbed at the remnants of her drying tears, hoping that her face didn’t bear any other signs of her prior distress, with her shirtsleeve before glancing over her shoulder to see who had come to find her now.

It was Cara.

“Good morning,” she greeted her friend, who appeared concerned and troubled even as she rubbed at the corners of her sleep-encrusted eyes and muffled a yawn behind one of her hands.

“You okay?” the dark-haired Human woman asked quietly, preserving their privacy, while standing there somewhat awkwardly. Cara glanced back and forth between Baceka and the ground, looking as if she was considering whether she ought to take a seat as well.

“Better now.”

“Had a rough night?”

Baceka hummed and nodded just barely. This was not a terribly uncommon occurrence in the time that they had spent together. For either of them. They were both veterans of war. Each of them had seen things and even done things that they might have rathered not. There were consequences to the sort of lifestyle that they had chosen to commit to.

“You wanna talk about it?” the former-Shock Trooper asked.

The Zabrak woman truly appreciated her friend’s concern, but even now there were things that she just couldn’t talk to Cara about. They were just too private. Too tender. Wounds that had never truly healed since they had been inflicted all those years ago. Not to mention the danger that sharing could bring to those who her most closely guarded secrets protected.

It was not just her well-being that was at stake.

“No. But thank you,” Baceka said, bracing herself against Bhagya while she pushed herself back onto her feet. “Has the morning meal been served yet?”

“Not yet,” Cara said as she shook her head. “Just woke up and came looking for you. I bet it’ll be ready soon, though. Saw Omera on my way over. Looked like she and some of the others were getting to work on making a big batch of something.”

And as if summoned by the mere mention of food, Baceka’s stomach let loose a gurgling growl. “That’s good,” she said, clasping a hand to her noisy abdomen as if that would make it stay quiet. “We’ve got a lot of work to do today and I don’t plan to tackle any of it without a full stomach.”

Perhaps she would even abstain from her usual stretches and katas that morning? The Zabrak woman wasn’t really feeling like doing anything more than eating her fill at that particular moment. And a day without them wouldn’t do anything to affect her wellbeing beyond a bit of residual tightness in her joints and muscles. Nothing that a day of physical labor, which that day was sure to contain, wouldn’t eventually remedy all on its own.

Maybe she would do them in the evening instead? A way to wind herself down and relax.

The walk back into the heart of the village was a leisurely thing. Baceka and Cara walking side by side, each offering suggestions and ideas about how the day’s events would pan out. Bhagya paced alongside the Zabrak woman, keeping close to her side as she kept one of her hands resting across his shoulders. He would stay close for the day, she knew. Their bond through the Force was strong, forged throughout the many years she had raised him and trained him, and he knew of her unrest. Dulvoyinn Bloodcats might not have been a Force-sensitive species – like the Akk Dogs of Haruun Kal or the Hrosma Tigers of Baskarn – but his natural instincts were strong and his mind was intelligent.

Omera waylaid them before they could reach their assigned living quarters, foisting platters of food into their arms with warm greetings and another round of profuse gratitude from her and the others that had gathered. The woman had even offered a decently sized haunch of meat – which looked like the front quarter off of a sizable grinjer – to Bhagya with a surprising degree of bravery. She hadn’t even flinched when the Bloodcat had opened his fanged maw and taken it from her hands. The two women thanked her and made haste back to their porch to eat and continue making tentative plans for the day.

The Mandalorian joined them not too long afterwards alongside his toddling green companion.

“Morning,” Cara greeted him through her last mouthful of food and with a singular and lazy wave of her hand. Baceka had long since finished her own meal and was reclining back against Bhagya as he licked, ripped and chewed off chunks of meat from bone to swallow. Though, she was forced to sit up in order to welcome the sudden and persistent attentions of the youngling who all but tumbled into her lap.

She couldn’t help but laugh as his little claws dug into the fabric of her trousers and he plopped himself down across her thighs with a widest of grins on his mouth. “Yes. Yes, little one. Good morning to you too,” the Zabrak woman greeted warmly as the child let loose a garbled string of attempted words and flailing arms. Though, she was fairly certain she could parse his meaning from his emotional aura, which – unfortunately for her still delicate mental state – he was projecting quite loudly. “Did you sleep well last night? Have you eaten this morning? Yes, I’ve missed you too. Yes, we’re all going to be very busy today. Yes, it does look like it’s going to be a nice day.”

Baceka didn’t even have to look to know that Cara and the bounty hunter were watching her fairly one-sided, and most likely hilarious or insane looking, conversation with the babbling toddler on her lap.

“Ready to get to work?” the man eventually asked after the youngling had calmed and quieted.

They were.

It was time to begin teaching the villagers how to defend themselves.

Just as before – though this time relocated to the more spacious outskirts of the village along the edges of the krill ponds – they all gathered to listen. Nearly two dozen of those who were fit to fight, or at least old enough to help with the preparations, while the handful of the elderly had volunteered to look after the youngest of the children. Some, such as Omera, bore determined expressions on their faces. But others, such as the two men that had hired them and brought them here, fidgeted nervously where they stood. They were far from the well-trained fighting forces that Baceka was used to working with, but she had a fair bit of confidence that they would all do their best when the time came.

“So, you’ve got two problems here,” the Mandalorian began. “You’ve got the bandits and then you’ve got the mech. The three of us will handle the AT-ST, but your job is going to be protecting us when the Raiders come out of the woods. You all know just how dangerous they are.” He gestured with a gloved hand to where the two women were standing at his side. “Baceka Eklo and Cara Dune here are veterans. They were soldiers for the Rebel Alliance and they’re going to lay out the plan, so listen carefully.”

Cara then stepped forward, having come up with the simplest and least time-consuming way to defeat the Imperial walker. A strategy that the both of them had seen AT-ST’s fall prey to on the field of battle more than once. “There’s nothing on this planet that we have easy access to that can damage this thing. So instead, we’re gonna build a trap. We’re going to need to dig deep, right here in these ponds, so that when it steps in, it drops. Then we’ll be able to get at the cockpit and the pilots.”

“When the time is right,” Baceka added next, shifting slightly with the youngling still cradled in her arms. “The three of us will hit their camp, reducing their numbers and provoking them into attacking. That will bring the fight out of the woods and down here to us in the open. But we need to prepare defenses for when they arrive to make it safer for all of you and more difficult for them.”

The _beroya_ spoke then. “For that we’ll need to cut down trees and build barricades along these outer edges where they’re going to come out. This will limit the ways they can approach the village, make them cluster together, and also give you all something to hide behind. But we also need it to be high enough that the walker can’t get over it and strong enough so that it can’t break through.”

“That’ll be what we’re doing for most of today,” Cara said even as they all noticed that the villagers were looking more and more overwhelmed by what was going to be required of them. “Along with beginning to dig the trap for the walker.”

“We will also need to find branches long enough and straight enough to make you all simple spears,” Baceka explained. “While the opening moments of this fight will be conducted at range with blasters, it is more than likely that some of the Raiders will get through and you will have to fight them up close and personal. So, you will be splitting your combat training equally between spears and blasters.”

The Mandalorian’s helmeted gaze swept assessingly across the villagers and Baceka wondered what he might be thinking. “So, do any of you know how to shoot?”

Only Omera and one other raised their hands after a moment of hesitation and the Zabrak woman could not help but hear the gusty huff of disappointment from the _beskar_ -clad bounty hunter. Clearly, he had possessed higher expectations of them regardless of their humble lifestyle. But they would all learn soon enough. It would just take time and diligence.

“Practice with blasters will begin later this afternoon if there is time,” Baceka announced, knowing that their defense would be far more important than their offense in the long run. “For now, half of you will be coming with me into the forest to gather logs and branches. The rest of you will be following Cara’s instruction on preparing the trap.”

The division of labor was surprisingly well managed. They were farmers, after all. They knew what hard work was. Ten of the twenty plus villagers – all of whom had claimed to have at least some experience with logging – rounded out her team. The two repulsorlift, droid-driven land transports had been rigged up for hauling and a couple of the villagers knew of a good place to begin their harvest. Saws and axes – the majority of them primitive with only a few laser-based – made up the majority of their armament. But it made her realize, with mild dismay, that every suitable tree would need to be felled by hand.

This was going to take some time.

She had long since handed off the youngling into the care of the Mandalorian, devoting the whole of her attention to the task at hand with Bhagyamani at her side. They would be going nowhere near the places traversed by the Raiders, but she was fully armed regardless. Carrying the whole of her arsenal and would be more than ready should trouble end up finding her group.

Cara already had the others in the water by the time they were finally ready to leave. The older children were helping to transfer the krill into other ponds while the ex-Shock Trooper was outlining to the adults just how and where they needed to be digging. Omera was amongst the crowd of those who stood with shovels and other suitable tools in their hands.

Boots crunched in the dirt behind her before stopping and she glanced over her shoulder to see a mass of dark brown fabric, polished leather and plates of shining _beskar_.

“Need any help in the forest?”

She grinned a bit at the Mandalorian bounty hunter and teasingly asked, “You wouldn’t rather stay here and play in the mud with Cara?”

He didn’t reply immediate, though his helmeted head tilted ever so slightly to the side and he idly adjusted the strap of his rifle where it crossed over his chest.

“Think I’ve had enough of mud to last me a while,” he eventually quipped in a tone that couldn’t be mistaken for anything less than a joke.

Blithely ignoring that fact that Baceka felt as though she was missing a bit of context in relation to his joke, she clicked her tongue a couple of times in mock disapproval and a quick shake of her head. The Zabrak woman turned and beckoned the bounty hunter to follow her after her with a wave of her hand. “I suppose we could always use a bit more muscle and you’ve definitely got plenty to spare.”

It hadn’t been meant as flattery or flirtation. No, it had just been a statement of fact. The Mandalorian was tall – or, at least, taller than she was by a fair margin – and underneath of all that armor she could tell that he was healthy, muscular and fit. In his profession it was almost a requirement, after all. But in response to her words there was a noticeable fluctuation in his emotional spectrum that even with her senses, which were tuned down to a bare minimum of alertness, could feel.

There was a quick flare of uneasiness, perhaps even something akin to embarrassment or discomfiture, before it was drowned out with a strong, though brief, flare of heady attraction.

_Oh dear_.

Baceka did her best to pay it no mind, focusing instead on ushering her logging team into motion so that they could complete their task. Walking along at the rear of their troop while furiously tamping down on the desire to say more with direct intentions to woo him. To push for a result that would – unfortunately – not work in either of their favors in the long run. It was simply too risky to chance it, regardless of how pleasurable the encounter might’ve ended up being.

They had a job to do and it must take precedence.

Several minutes into the trip, Baceka chose to send Bhagya off into the woods to scout and maybe even find himself something more to eat. He was reluctant but she assured him that she would be just fine in his absence. She watched as the villagers warily eyed her animal companion as he loped by and off into the trees. They knew that he wasn’t a danger to them but they also knew just as well that he was a predator of the highest degree. Her hands adjusted their grip on her blaster rifle, which was slung to hang across her chest and she felt the gaze of the Mandalorian fall onto her once again. He had been watching the forest like her. His eyes peeled and alert for danger just like her own and Baceka had been more than content to let him do that the whole time.

Her shifting must’ve drawn his attention. Or he was bored. That was certainly a possible option. Going into the forest to chop down trees must be rather dull when compared to a hunt for some criminal or other wanted target.

“That’s a nice rifle,” he eventually commented with a nod down at the weapon in her hands.

“Thank you,” she said, wondering where he was going with this line of inquiry.

“It’s a WESTAR M5, right?”

“Well spotted,” she admitted, surprised just a bit by his spot-on guess. “You know your rifles.”

There was an almost smug tone to his voice as he said, “I am a Mandalorian.” As if that blunt statement was enough of an explanation for his knowledge.

And it was. Though, she rather thought that the man himself was also just that fond of weapons. Their form and function. Perhaps even their history. It was definite an apt hobby for someone of his particular profession and cultural background to take up. However, if Baceka was to guess, based on the armory’s-worth of blasters he had brought with him to the village, that he was also a collector. A quick glance at the Amban Pulse-Phase Blaster on his back – a disruptor sniper rifle – supported her mental assumption.

That sort of weapon was rare and valuable. Powerful and incredibly deadly. And illegal for good reason, she thought, with a brief flare of dislike directed towards the rifle.

“So you are,” she agreed with a slightly strained smile, hoping that the Mandalorian didn’t notice.

But who would have thought that a man who came off in first impressions as threateningly inaccessible, closed off and unfeeling would have such a dry sense of humor? Baceka found herself becoming more and more intrigued by him, regardless of his choice of weapon, with every passing interaction. It was not as though she could hold the Amban against him. A death caused by her electrostaff was not much more merciful or painless than one via atomic disintegration.

But Baceka had a feeling that deep down beneath his tough exterior – behind the mask, armor and bristling armaments that he displayed for everyone else – he was a good man with a noble heart.

Why else would he have gone on the run to protect the youngling?

“They’re pretty rare,” he said, drawing her attention back with his admittedly pleasant-sounding voice. The low timbre and seemingly natural roughness and graveled sounds of his native accent, which was only moderately altered and flattened by his helmet. “Limited run of manufacture. How’d you get one?”

“It was a gift,” she answered honestly.

“A gift? Really?”

“Yes. From a good friend. A brother in arms.” She smiled at the memory. It was a good one. One filled with the warm and comforting sensations of family and belonging. “Shanh said that he didn’t need it anymore and gave it to me just before I left to officially join the Rebellion. Said it would keep me safe.” Baceka paused as she recalled exactly what it was that he had said. “And that it would kick Imperial ass.”

“Did it?”

A smirk began to form as she eyed the Mandalorian beside her before parting her lips into a more wolfish – predatory – smile of satisfaction and victory. “I’m still here, aren’t I?” she asked rhetorically.

She could almost sense his answering smile, likely a near mirror of her own. “So you are,” he echoed. Repeating her own words back at her with incredibly quick wit to the point that she couldn’t help but laugh just a little.

“Alright. Now it is my turn to ask something,” she said, thinking quickly about what she might want to ask him. To learn more. She wouldn’t ask about the youngling, however. No. Those questions would be saved for another time. A time when they weren’t busy trying to teach krill farmers how to fight and defend themselves against Raiders and a kriffing AT-ST. So, she settled for what she would consider a much safer subject. “How long have you been a bounty hunter for? If you don’t mind me asking.”

He took a moment to think before answering, “Almost twenty years, give or take a few.”

“For so long? You must be very good.” But he only shrugged his shoulders instead of agreeing with her. A surprisingly humble response that once again set him apart from most of the rest in his profession. Other bounty hunters that she had come into contact with had tended to be arrogant and prideful of their skills and successes. Or even resorting to lying about having such in hopes to gain favor or a bed partner. It was because of this fact that Baceka found herself suddenly more than curious and rather eager to learn of his accomplishments in the field.

“Are there any hunts that stand out from the rest?” she asked. “Most fun? Challenging? Ridiculous?”

The Mandalorian was quiet for some time and she waited and wondered if he would even be willing to answer her question. Baceka diverted her attention away during this time, checking in on the villagers in front, who were just fine, and reaching out to Bhagyamani. The Bloodcat had found a quick meal and was some ways away from their group, but had found no sign or scent of the Raiders or other sentients on their path.

It was good news. If luck remained on their side, Baceka was confident that her team would be able to harvest enough trees to complete a good chunk of the barricades in only one trip.

And it even seemed that the hunter was amenable to satisfying her curiosities, as he eventually asked, “Ever heard of the planet Risso?”

“I believe I have,” she said. “In the Inner Rim, right? Never been.”

He nodded once. “Yeah. That’s the one. It’s got a moon that’s covered in spa resorts. Hot springs.”

“That sounds nice. Very relaxing.”

“Tracked a pair of thieves there. Live bounty. Partners that robbed a private vault on Naboo.”

“And how did it go?” she asked.

He hummed beneath the helmet, one gloved hand clenching into a fist at his side for a moment while the other came up to wrap around the bandolier strap on his chest. His fingers rubbed and pinched at the leather and slightly shifted one of the cylindrical disruptor rounds in its loop. “The Advozse was the easier of the two to catch. Caught him with his pants down. Literally. Still tried to run, but he didn’t make it very far. Ended up tripping into one of the springs and knocked himself out on a rock. Had to fish him out before he drowned.”

“And the other?” she prompted, keen to hear the rest of his story.

A heavy exhale escaped from the hunter and she noticed a tenseness rising in his shoulders, as he was working himself up to keep talking. Obviously, he wasn’t accustomed to speaking so much or for so long. It made the Zabrak woman wonder why he was humoring her questions. He could just have easily said no and she would’ve accepted it. The matter of his attraction towards her was not an inherently sound explanation or reason. Could he be beginning to trust her? Regard her as a potential friend? They were already sworn allies in the villagers’ fight against the Raiders. And he certainly did not seem to mind her being around and carrying the youngling with the frequency that she did.

Of course, that was mostly a matter of the little green toddler’s insistence.

“A Dug,” the _beroya_ continued, his voice slightly softer in both volume and tone. When Baceka reached out, an instinct she had a hard time restraining herself from acting on, she sensed the faintest coloring of awkward embarrassment swirling around his consciousness. Though, there was a stronger amount of amusement in his mind than his discomfort over sharing. A relief for her, as she was assuaged that he at least found the memory funny too. Though, most likely only in hindsight. “Female. Ended up having to chase her through three different resorts on the moon. Kept trying to use the gender restricted pools as a way to keep me away. I… I was younger. Less experienced and patient. And her plan ended up working a little too well. The women in the pools… I’ll just say that I didn’t come out of it unscathed.”

Oh, this was too good!

Baceka could almost see the scene playing out in her mind’s eye. Towels and spare articles of clothing being flung, thermal waters splashing and feminine cries of outrage and mortification. The man beside her, wholly devoted to his chase and the furthering of his reputation, but almost as equally as shocked and stunned by the chaos that he had stumbled into and was creating in his wake.

“Naughty, naughty. What a scandal I’ll bet you caused,” she teased with a widening grin, unintentionally letting a bark of laughter escape from her. Baceka sucked in a slightly wheezing breath and continued speaking with a falsely dramatic air and a hand laid over her chest. “A brash, young bounty hunter barging in and disturbing all those lovely ladies’ relaxing soaks in the water.” She even thought that she heard a snort of laughter escape from the hunter at her side as she asked, “But how did you manage to catch your quarry? Or did she escape your grasp?”

He shook his head and ended up focusing the visor of his helmet on the surrounding forest rather than meet her inquisitive gaze. “Yes and no. A group of bathers actually ended up capturing her. Trussed her up in those sashes that come with the robes they’re all given, tossed her at my feet and then told me to get the kriff out before they called security.”

Baceka laughed. She couldn’t not laugh, regardless of the confused and startled stares that the villagers sent back in her direction at the sudden and boisterous noise. The imagined events that played out within the confines of her mind were simply too hilarious to not react to. Though, in a feeble and last-minute effort to salvage the Mandalorian’s pride she did her best to muffle her laughter behind a gloved palm. Sputtering for breath and trying to choke back the audible mirth that so desperately wanted to escape from her mouth.

The Zabrak woman couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed so freely. So honestly and to the point that the muscles in her jaw had even begun to ache. And the hunter bore her amusement with good grace. Not commenting on her laughter, or joining it, but just looking on as she tried to rein herself back in.

He was happy.

She sensed it in the seconds that her control over the Force had slipped just the slightest amount. A gentle sort of joy that he had found in the act of making her laugh. And it was by far the happiest and most contented the Mandalorian had seemed to her in the short time that she had known him. For that short, precious moment in time, he had been unburdened of his perpetual worries and lingering fears and was allowed to simply be.

“We’re here!” one of the villagers suddenly called out from the front of their group and both Baceka’s and the hunter’s head snapped forward.

It was true. In less than an hour of travel they had arrived in a region of the forest that was filled with younger trees. Those that would give them logs of the proper lengths and widths needed to make the best possible barricade in their limited frame of time.

Time to get to work.

“Good,” the Zabrak woman said, stepping away from the Mandalorian and joining the cluster of villagers to give them directions. They needed to work fast, but also safely so that no one ended up getting hurt. “We’ll be dividing into six teams of two and working in rotating shifts. Four on and two off. The teams not working will be keeping watch and resting. Communication amongst the teams will be key. When a tree you’re working on is about to fall let the others know immediately...” But as she continued to speak, setting the rules for their hurried operation, a startling and not wholly pleasant realization came over her.

How quickly she had fallen back into her old ways. The familiarity of being in a position of command again. The ease with which she had slid back into boots that she wasn’t even sure she had taken off in the first place. Even in this situation – no matter the much smaller scale in comparison to others – had brought this facet of her old self back. How dearly she had wanted to put these skills behind her. Her talent for tactics. Her trained skill and natural charisma directed towards leading people into battle.

Necessary? Possibly.

Desired? Most certainly not.

That was the whole point of coming to a backwater world like Sorgan! The backbone of her demanded resignation from the Alliance to Restore the Republic’s command structure. Getting out and away before they – friends and allies though they might’ve been – dragged her kicking and screaming into the messy politicking of the New Republic.

But nonetheless, under her precise instruction and hefting the myriad of axes and saws to the trunks of their first tree, the twelve of them got to work. The exertion was a good enough distraction both from the alluring bounty hunter and from thinking in general. Bhagyamani still prowled in between them and the estimated location of the Raider’s camp. He would let her know if anything came their way. Until then she would work her proverbial ass off quite happily.

_Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._

Baceka had chosen a simple axe and she and her partner – not the Mandalorian – worked in tandem. Striking in a one-two beat to chip away bark and then deeper and deeper into the wood beneath. The primitive tools would be used to cut the trees down while the few laser-based pieces of equipment would be used later to remove limbs quickly and cut the logs into lengths the transports could carry.

The first tree fell. The victim of the _beroya_ and another man with a cross-cutting hand saw.

And then another. And then a third and a fourth, fifth and a sixth.

Six trees on the ground, limbed and sectioned, before being lifted and loaded into the transports to be secured with chains and straps. Rinsed and repeated with only a few breaks for snacking and taking long drinks of water.

Which the Mandalorian did not partake in. Baceka found herself – despite her very clear intentions to put some distance between herself and the intriguing man – approaching him on one such break that took the place of their midday meal.

“You should at least drink something,” she suggested.

“It’s fine.”

The Zabrak woman couldn’t help but frown. “It really isn’t. You’re going to get dehydrated.”

“I’m…” he began, but she crossed her arms over her chest and interrupted.

“If you say fine again,” she threatened mildly. “I’m going to shoot you in the knee and have Bhagya drag you all the way back to the village by your ankles. We don’t have time for you to be hurting yourself out of unnecessary and misplaced stubbornness.”

He shifted on his booted feet, looking away from her and back towards the forest. “I can’t.”

“Can’t what?” she asked. “Drink water? Eat food? I was pretty sure you were Human underneath all of that...”

“I am Human. I just can't take off the helmet. Not in the presence of others. By the Creed, no living being is allowed to remove my helmet or see my face.”

Of all the… Was this a personal quirk of his? What sort of crackpot Creed had this man sworn himself to? She knew the tenets of the _Resol’nare_ from her mutual affiliations in the past and there was nothing…

Baceka suddenly felt the nearly overwhelming urge to take the bounty hunter by the shoulders and shake him until she managed to break whatever door he kept his common kriffing sense behind.

“Then go and take a walk in the woods.” She pointed into a thicker cluster of older trees with wide trunks. “Take some food and a canteen with you. Eat, drink and then come back when you’re done.”

“But…”

“Move your ass, _beroya_ , before I move it for you,” she nearly snarled at him, pointing into the forest once again with more emphasis. “I won’t have you working yourself to death. Get going. Now.”

He listened, slinking off while she turned to devote her attentions back to the villagers. And then he was back, before even ten minutes had passed, with the food gone and the canteen emptied.

They all returned to work.

It was a couple of hours later when Baceka made the decision to call everyone to a halt. They had harvested enough to complete the majority of a decent barricade and the limbs the had removed were more than enough to make the needed spears. The logs were stacked and the chains and straps holding them to the transports were checked and then checked again to makes sure they were secure. The repulsorlifts on the transports were just within their operational threshold, with only the slightest whine to give away that they were under any strain at all. But the owner and sole mechanically-inclined mind in the village, a stern-looking Human woman with dark skin and a thick rope of a braid trailing down her back, assured Baceka that they would make it.

They made haste back to the village. Or rather as much haste as they would with work-wearied muscles and two full loads of logs. Bhagya returned at her call, sidling up beside her to demand attention and bestowing her with his own brand of affection. Yet, as they traveled along and for some unknowable reason the Mandalorian kept his silence on the way back, though they still walked side by side at the rear of the convoy.

Had she upset him with her blunt demands for him to take care of himself?

They were well meant, but Baceka knew that most bounty hunters did not take to orders well. They seemed to prefer being the ones in control of the situation instead. On instinct she reached out to see, delaying contact by checking on the villagers as well. They were tired, but satisfied with their day of work. The determination to protect their home still running strong in each and every one of their minds.

And yet, the _beskar_ -clad hunter, when she finally extended a tendril of her psyche towards his own had no traces of any strong negative emotions. He was not angry, annoyed or irritated with her.

He was physically tired – drenched in sweat just like the rest of them, based on the casual observance of her nose – and more than ready to return to the village. Curious to see how far Cara’s had progressed with the others in digging the trap. Anxious to reunite with the youngling and make sure that the little one was safe and sound. But also – beyond the normal miscellany found in any other sentient’s active mind – he was simply…

Content.

And, oddly enough, Baceka found that she was as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow this chapter, which was supposed to comprise of all of the village's preparations for the big fight, turned into mostly just Baceka and Din chatting and flirting in the woods in the second half. I don't know how, but it happened and I find that I have no regrets. A little more Bhagyamani too, because damn I just love that monstrous alien cat-beast that I've created and I hope you all do as well. Cat therapy is real, my friends. Pet therapy in general is just my favorite and everyone ought to have an emotional support critter regardless of their emotional support needs or lack thereof. I'm quite certain that I'll need to be cuddling one of my cats or my dog soon because after posting this I'm going to be watching Episode 15 and I have so many feelings and opinions and expectations that I just might burst. Probably into tears, but who knows? And, of course and as always, a very big and heartfelt thank you to everyone who has left kudos, subscribed, bookmarked and left a comment. You all make my day just a little bit brighter and keep me going.


	5. The Fight

Only five days.

Just five full turns of Sorgan on its axis had ended up being all the time they were allowed to prepare.

The barricade had been built as best they could with the materials they had on hand. A wall of crates and barrels piled decently high and secured together with straps and heavy ropes. As many of the narrow pathways between the krill ponds as they could had been blocked with logs lashed together into sturdy tripods. It wouldn’t hold up to sustained blaster fire and would definitely not fare well against the heavy laser cannons of the AT-ST, but it was better than nothing. The trap for the Imperial walker was equally as ready as they could make it. A trench dug deep enough and wide enough beneath the calm surface of the two largest ponds in the outer ring to ensnare the walker’s legs and bring it down.

However, when put into contrast against the relative successes of the barricade and trap, the villagers’ combat training was slightly more lackluster in results. Even the ramshackle bunker to house the elderly and children that had been constructed on the far side of the village was slightly more impressive. One of the homes that had been further reinforced with the repulsorlift transports balanced on their sides to shield the interior. Admittedly, the Sorgan natives had done their best and put a great deal of effort into their training. But a week – a single week – was hardly enough time to have taught them much more than the most basic of basics.

They had all been shown and forced to repeat again and again the simplest attacks and defensive moves with their crafted spears before being allowed to spar under supervision against each other. Each of them tapped into the makeshift ring against the ex-Rebel Intelligence Agent and former Shock Trooper to test their skills. Cara Dune had come at them unarmed, grappling with her impressive strength to disarm them and pushing each and every villager to fend her off. Eklo forced them to block and dodge the heavy-handed slashes and stabs of her hefty single-edged vibroblade before challenging them in the end to hold their own against her electrostaff in its lowest setting.

The Mandalorian had watched. Offering advice when needed, but for the most part content to leave the melee training in the hands of the two seasoned women.

Idly wondering if he ought to comment on the fact that Dune had the makings of a good bounty hunter if she ever wanted to abandoned her attempts at retirement and start a new career. Avidly studying… No, he was not gawking or admiring in any way that was not just a healthy appreciation of her skill in combat. Avidly s _tudying_ the way that the Zabrak woman danced across the dirt with her fully extended staff spinning and twisting and crackling with purple-hued electricity in her hands.

Nearly every villager got a shock when they dropped their guard, fumbled a block or missed an opening for an attack. A sharp yelp, more out of surprise than pain, on their part before Baceka would pause to teach. To tell them what they did wrong, instruct them on how to fix their mistake and then encourage them to try again.

However, the training with blasters…

Collectively, beyond the surprising skill of a few and the quick learning of others, they could at least hit the broad side of a barn with a blaster bolt.

The Mandalorian had – with only a momentary internal cringe for the clumsy and rough handling that all of his weapons were about to be on the receiving end of – opened the contents of his armory to them. Pistols and rifles of all makes and models, along with his handful of personally customized pieces, were put into the hands of the villagers to use. The two veteran women joined him in drilling them all on their most important functions. Pointing out the safety switch, teaching them trigger discipline and how to reload a power pack before even letting them attempt to shoot at targets.

Or rather, in this case, a line of rusted pots and pans strung up on a laundry line.

It had been their hope to have a couple more days.

A hope that had been dashed in short order just after midday on the fifth day. The peaceful quiet of rural living shattered by a cacophony of snarling, screaming and the sounds of a brief, but violent, scuffle just beyond the tree line. Cara and Baceka had taken off in response and he quickly followed them after depositing the Child into Omera’s arms in passing. The three arriving just in time to be met with the sight of bloodstained fangs withdrawing from a thoroughly savaged throat.

The Dulvoyinn Bloodcat had caught and killed a lone Raider scout.

A Klatooinian.

The Zabrak woman had barked out a sharp word in a language that the Mandalorian didn’t know that sent her well-trained pet skittering back from its victim. Panting for breath, fangs slightly bared and with a muzzle splattered with crimson. Dune and Eklo had crouched beside the fresh corpse, rifling through the Raider’s belongings – a blaster pistol, a vibroblade and a pair of macrobinoculars – while he was left to stand without a task. Surprisingly, he found himself patting the Bloodcat on the head and murmuring to the beast that it had done a good job.

But the arrival of the scout meant that they couldn’t wait anymore.

“Tonight’s the night then,” Dune grunted out during their disposal of the body into a hastily dug hole, hefting the legs while he carried the weight of the upper half. “Was expecting them sooner, actually.”

“At least we got a week,” he said as they dumped the body and picked up a pair of shovels to finishing burying it. However, the Mandalorian found himself looking up and around at their surroundings more often than not during the process.

Baceka and the Bloodcat had gone into the woods with the intentions of running a quick circuit around the village to check for any additional scouts. Ultimately unlikely, but still entirely possible. The village – the Zabrak having spoken quickly with Omera and a couple of others before leaving – was now a bustling hive of activity and last-minute preparations. His donated blasters and the primitive spears now being carried openly by the villagers and the final checks being carried out on the AT-ST trap, the bunker and the barricade.

“Do you think they’re ready?” the ex-Shock Trooper asked lowly as she leant on her shovel.

He shook his head and bluntly said, “Doesn’t matter if they are or not.”

A branch snapped beneath a boot. He and Dune spun around to see Baceka and her enormous pet had returned. Though, it was far, far sooner than he had expected them to get back. But by the faint flush on her tattooed cheeks and both of their slightly elevated rates of breathing, the Mandalorian guessed that they must’ve ran the whole way around.

“Perimeter’s clear and there’s no fresh sign of anything other than animals coming close since the initial attack,” the Zabrak announced, a hand on her Dulvoyinn Bloodcat – now cleansed of any blood – and the other resting one of her blaster pistols. “Which is good news because it means that they don’t know what we’ve been doing. We’ll still have the element of surprise.”

“Then we’re leaving at sunset?” he asked for confirmation. It had been part of the original plan.

She nodded in silent agreement, brows furrowed and bringing up a hand to rub the pad of her thumb idly along the side of one of her temporal horns. A behavioral tic he had noticed in abundance this past week. A sign that she was thinking hard about something. “That would be for the best. The cover of darkness will give us an edge to sneak into their camp and Klatooinians don’t have particularly good night vision.” Exotic purple-blue irises flickered up to meet his visor – and his own eyes hidden just beyond – with her usual level of unerring accuracy. “And it will definitely give you the advantage with the infrared capabilities of your helmet, _beroya_.”

They left the trees soon afterwards and went back into the village to oversee and help where they could for the last handful of daylight hours in the day. The Zabrak woman split off to check in and speak with the two villagers that she was allowing to borrow her own blaster rifle and second pistol. Dune went to the pond traps and the barricade, assuring both herself and the villagers that the creations would do their jobs. Omera and a few of the others had already begun – even so soon after the midday meal – to begin cooking and preparing an early evening meal for them all.

And the Mandalorian found himself wandering almost aimlessly after a brief check that they all had their assigned blasters and spears. Making absolutely sure that they all knew that they would likely be in the middle of a fight within a few hours. The elderly and children were already bringing blankets and pillows into the ramshackle bunker, preparing to sit and wait and hide until the fight was won or lost. Though, the Child – who seemed to realize that something was going on – clung to him fiercely the whole time.

He did not mind.

It was only when the Zabrak – often walking by in a quick lockstep with the ex-Shock Trooper along with one or two of the villagers in tow – crossed his line of sight did the little green bundle in his arms wiggle or whine. If she spotted them in those instances, the woman always made sure to wiggle a few of her fingers in a little wave. An action that often had the whine becoming a giggle of amusement from the Child and had his own lips twitching upwards in response. The Dulvoyinn Bloodcat, however, appeared rather infrequently. Sometimes the beast would be at the side of his mistress, but other times it would be wandering alone or even vanishing off into the trees at a brisk lope as if on some mission.

The evening meal was served then, easily an hour before the singular sun would begin to even touch the horizon, and the Mandalorian handed the Child off into the waiting arms of Baceka so that he could eat.

It was odd, and yet somehow profoundly gratifying, that he and the Zabrak had established such an easy pattern for taking care of the Child. She was a natural caregiver and the _beskar_ -clad bounty hunter more often than not found himself trying to mimic her behavior. Maybe when this was all said and done it would just be the easiest and best solution to leave the green womp rat in her care and leave the planet. Deter the Child’s hunters as best he could while taking whatever jobs he could find – perhaps even funneling what funds he could back to the woman if she would accept them – and beginning to seek out his kith and kin that had fled from covert on Nevarro.

To him it was more than obvious that Baceka Eklo was far better suited to such a task than he was. The life of a bounty hunter, especially one on the run from Imperials and the Guild, was no place for a kid.

He emerged from the barn, armed and armored, to find Baceka, Omera, the Child and the Bloodcat standing just outside. The Zabrak carried the little one still and the Bloodcat sat beside her. The two women were speaking softly to each other, heads bowed inwards just slightly, but fell silent when he appeared and turned.

“Ready to go?” Eklo asked him.

“Yeah.”

Omera bowed her head solemnly, understanding that what they had been preparing for all this time was about to begin in earnest. “We’ll be ready when you return. As soon as you leave the elders and children will go to the bunker and all the others will line up behind the barricade.”

“Good,” the black-haired Zabrak said with a nod of her head, not even looking down as she once again pried a three-fingered hand away from the handle of the vibroblade sheathed across her chest. “Be sure to keep everyone calm but alert while we are gone.”

“I will. We’re ready to fight.”

The Mandalorian watched in silence as the Child was handed off into the widow’s arms. Omera would bring the little one to join the other children in the bunker. He would be safe there. And yet, a plaintive whine and heart-wrenching whimper accompanied the transfer. Hands grasping at the air, ears lowered and dark brown eyes wide and glistening with gathering moisture. But he was quickly calmed by hushed word and the soothing voice of the Zabrak woman, who lightly tapped one of her fingers playfully to the Child’s nose to make him briefly grin and giggle.

Just more proof in the Mandalorian’s eyes that she would do far better than him as the Child’s keeper.

She could keep him safe. Especially with Dune and the Bloodcat there to help as well.

The former Rebel Shock Trooper arrived then, seemingly ready and raring to get the show on the road, and they all left soon afterwards. Though, not before the Mandalorian had laid his Amban down behind the barricade with reverent care. It wouldn’t be needed in their initial attack, but the disruptor rifle would be incredibly useful against both the walker and the Raiders. The Dulvoyinn Bloodcat was also left behind, commanded by Eklo to sit in front of the bunker and guard it.

The forest grew dark quickly as they made their way swiftly through the trees. Following the same path from the scouting trip and then going even further and further into the wilderness. A brisk walk became more of a jog as the night closed in and it seemed as though even the wildlife had chosen to abandon the area. And yet, they did not come across a single enemy. The Raiders were obviously unconcerned with the fact that their scout had not returned. And after less than an hour and a half of swift traveling the three of them arrived at the edge of the Raiders’ campsite.

It was a cluster of about a dozen structures, illuminated only by firelight or dim, flickering lamps.

One such fire crackled within a rough circle of stones, a trio of Klatooinians sitting around it, chattering in their native tongue and drinking the bioluminescent blue of spotchka from translucent tankards. It was clear enough what they had been doing with the harvest of blue krill that had stolen from the village. Drinking it all away. But it was to their detriment as the three were caught unaware by the Mandalorian and the two women. Each of them picking their targets simultaneously and dragged them off into the brush. Armored arms and gloved hands wrapped firmly around their necks and mouths, before all three were put out of their misery with two broken necks and one blade-severed spine.

The Mandalorian raised an arm as they moved on, gesturing for Dune and Eklo to follow him in circling around to the nearest of the tents. A patrol of two more Raiders had them retreating back, ducking into cover behind a particularly thick tree trunk in an awkward cluster. The Zabrak tapped the ex-Shock Trooper in front of her on the arm – the Mandalorian explicitly not paying any attention at all to the fact that all of them were pressed right up against each other – before roughly gesturing to the both of them, the two passing Klatooinians and a quick drag of two fingers across her bare neck.

The women moved smoothly before he could even blink with a practiced efficiency. Closing in on their unsuspecting victims, which were dealt an equally silent and similarly fatal end as their fellows.

The three moved onwards.

They silenced two more paired patrols – nine Raiders in total taken out of the final equation – on their way before they finally reached one of the largest of the tents. They pressed up against the side, nothing more than thick cloth held up by supporting poles, and prepared to enter. Baceka and Cara taking ahold of the edge of the curtains as the Mandalorian prepared to go first. The significant advantage of his _beskar’gam_ made him the clear choice to lead. All of their blasters held at the ready as the Zabrak held three fingers up and began counting down silently...

_Three._

_Two._

_One._

_Now!_

They pulled the fabric back and he moved in with his blaster up, the women falling in on his left and right with their own weapons at the ready. But the tent was uninhabited. All it contained were a few bubbling vats of still fermenting spotchka, a motley stack of crates containing who-knows-what, some barrels and a central power generator right in the middle. Eklo and Dune split off to investigate the rest of the tent while he pulled one of the thermal detonators off of his belt. Activating it and setting the timer before affixed it magnetically to the generator.

The explosion would make quite a satisfactory provocation.

A quiet whistle broke the silence and he glanced to see the former Shock Trooper and ex-Intelligence Agent posting up near the secondary entrance. It was pointed towards the center of the Raiders’ camp. Dune gestured with her head towards the cloth with a clear expression of warning and Baceka was already taking a combat stance, bent knees and widened feet, holstering her blaster and hefting her vibroblade instead.

Someone was coming.

Two Raiders entered the tent completely unaware of what awaited them inside.

A sharp right hook from Cara took the first one down, while a destabilizing kick and a slash of Eklo’s humming vibroblade slashed the neck of the second wide open. More Raiders poured in through the entrance and the tent devolved into an all-out close-quarters brawl. The Mandalorian swung with armored fists at any that came close while also keeping a close eye on his allies in case they needed help. But it looked like Dune was enjoying herself immensely. Her gauntleted fists flying and bodily throwing the Klatooinians around like the weighed nothing. The Zabrak woman, in turn, was nimbly dodging, kicking, slashing and stabbing at any of those who got within her arm’s reach. The blade was even being tossed from her right hand to her left and back again with clear ambidextrous skill, while which hand was empty blocked and redirected incoming attacks that couldn’t be avoided.

Dune shoved one dazed and unsteady Klatooinian into his range and he followed through with the sharp clang of a backhand swing of his vambrace against the bone of the alien’s skull.

The fight ended abruptly. The Mandalorian was just a bit winded, huffing for breath and looking down with satisfaction at the dead Raiders just as the ex-Shock Trooper was. Only Eklo had yet to relax. Her breathing far less labored than his own or Dune’s – a steady inhale followed by a controlled exhale – while she continued to watch the entrance.

“Round two,” the Zabrak woman muttered just loud enough to be heard just before a second and even larger wave of frenzied Raiders charged into the tent from both entrances.

The Mandalorian was shoved back by two into the generator, lashing out with a boot into one’s knee while the other landed a punch on his helmet. A jab into a throat had the puncher reeling backwards and the one with a shattered knee was dispatched with Eklo’s vibroblade slashed across the back of his neck. He pursued the sole survivor, grappling to get one of his arms around the Raider’s neck and twisted sharply to snap it before being flung sideways. He stumbled back, tripping over a cable before landing with a clang as his back and shoulders impacted against a metal cylinder. He quickly kicked out at his opponent’s shin before rising to his feet, grabbing at the Klatooinian’s coat and slinging him face first into that very same cylinder.

He caught sight of Dune drowning another in a vat of spotchka out of the corner of his eyes before a flash and crackle of sudden electricity from the far side of the tent snagged his attention.

Eklo danced between three enemies. Her vibroblade shoved between the ribs of the first, sweeping the legs out from underneath the second, before striking the third across the face with one end of her electrostaff. It must’ve been at a high-power setting because the third did not get back up and the faintest scent of charred flesh filled the air. The second died soon after as she spun the staff and struck once again, before spinning down onto one knee to twist and pull her vibroblade with a wet sucking squelch from the chest of the first.

Blaster fire seared through the air as two more Raiders, this time armed with rifles, entered the fray. The Mandalorian rolled into cover, just as Dune slid behind another vat and Baceka skidded to a stop next to her. The two women pressed themselves close together and hunched down to avoid the incoming hail of fire. The stray and poorly aimed bolts melted through a flimsy plate of metal paneling nearby and a quick glance at the now rapidly flashing detonator meant that their time was running out.

He fired at the panel as well, melting its structure and weakening it before yelling, “Time to leave! You two go first! I’ll cover you!”

The women made a break for it and he rose behind them, putting his armored body between them and the blaster fire. Just as planned the three of them went crashing through the wall, stumbling to their feet and clumsily running a few strides before diving forward into the dirt as the tent exploded. A ball of fire and blast of heat and sound only made more powerful by the combustible properties of fermenting alcohol. The Mandalorian ended up with an arm tossed protectively over the back of the Zabrak woman, while she laid partially on top of Dune, who in turn had her arms folded over her head.

His head turned as the two women picked their heads up from the dirt and all three of them turned to look over their shoulders at the wanton destruction they had created in their wake. The large tent had been nearly completely destroyed and the fires had spread those nearby with a greedy hunger.

“I hope the plan worked,” Cara gasped out over the roar of growing flames.

A threatening hiss of hydraulics was their answer. The two panes of the AT-ST’s cockpit, glowing a menacing shade of red, rose from the bushes to tower above them as they scrambled to their feet.

“Go,” he urged, pulling Eklo to her feet and pushing her ahead of him as Cara took off. “Go!”

They ran. Twisting and dodging around and through the trees, using the trunks as shields as the walker opened fire with its primary laser cannons. The Mandalorian being shoved out of the way by Dune as a nearby tree was simultaneously shattered into pieces and incinerated. Watching as Baceka leapt over a fallen log with an almost supernatural grace, tucking into a roll just as the dirt just behind her boots was all but vaporized.

Gaining ground as the walker was forced to navigate around obstacles and pushing themselves to run faster as soon as the village – lit by torches in the night – came into sight. He slid into cover behind the barricade, scooping up his rifle and getting ready for the real fight.

“Get ready! This is it!” Cara shouted as the sounds of the walker grew louder and louder. “Once that thing steps into the pond it’ll drop and fall!”

The AT-ST emerged, coming closer and closer and closer, until it only needed to take one more step…

And then it stopped.

“And the pilot just had to be the one Raider with a brain,” Eklo hissed from between Dune and himself.

The walker shifted, rising just slightly taller, before the village was suddenly blinded beneath a brilliantly white spotlight that slowly swept from side to side.

“Get down! Get down!” he called out down the line, sinking further behind the barricade knowing that the gleam of his unpainted _beskar_ would reflect the light all too well. A singular and thunderous blast of red shot out when the walker caught a glimpse of one fool who ducked into cover too slowly. One of the village’s homes – luckily unoccupied – was obliterated to splintered from the single shot.

And then the rest of the Raiders came charging out from the trees and reeds.

And the battle began in earnest as the villagers opened fire on their attackers. Blaster bolts taking down more than a few of the wildly charging Klatooinians, while other glanced ineffectually off of the walker’s durasteel hull and other shorts were hitting absolutely nothing at all. In and amongst the flashing sea of red colored bolts, only three weapons fired in a different color. Bright laser bolts of blue came from all of Baceka’s weapons; the pistol in her own hands, along with its partner and the heavy blaster rifle that she had given to others to wield.

He shot one Raider with his Amban right between the legs of the walker as it opened fire once more. It was only due to the barricades and maybe even the pilot’s poor aim that nothing of consequence was hit that time. But they needed to deal with the AT-ST and they needed to deal with it quickly.

“We’ve gotta get that thing to step forward,” he yelled to the two women to his left.

“I’m thinking,” Dune barked, while he disintegrated another Raider attempting to charge down the central path with his rifle.

“We’ve gotta bait it,” the Zabrak between them shouted, rising up onto her knees to level her blaster pistol at a pair of approaching Raiders and with two precise pulls of the trigger killed both.

Cara’s arm flung out over Baceka’s back with an open palm. “Okay. Got a new plan. Give me the pulse rifle and couple of cartridges,” she demanded and he passed them over without argument while drawing his pistol. Dune looked to the Zabrak between them. “Remember the Tip of the Spear, Eklo? Just like how we got it done in that spice mine on Sevarcos?”

“Yeah! Sounds good to me,” the Zabrak shouted, switching out her pistol for the electrostaff before she turned her head towards him with a gleam in her eyes and a sharp grin curling her lips. “You keep them off our flanks as much as you can.”

He nodded. “I’ve got you covered.”

She rose onto her feet in a crouch, shifting around Dune with a hand on the Human woman’s back as the two switched spots. A moment passed by before in a sudden burst of movement the Zabrak woman sprinted down the path, activating her electrostaff and with the former Shock Trooper just behind her. Eklo took down three Raiders in their way, rolling forward while Dune jumped into one of the inner ponds as the walker fired down at them. He shot at any Raiders that came near, eyes shifting between the walker, Cara and the rapidly dodging form of Baceka.

Four Klatooinians fell to the crackling purple-colored electricity before the Zabrak vanished suddenly in the darkness. Her electrostaff went dark and he almost stood in a panic. What had happened? Where was she? He hadn’t seen her get shot. Then the villagers were charging out from behind the barricade to engage the Raiders in close quarters and Dune was shooting up at the cockpit of the AT-ST with his rifle.

The walker shifted forward, but not quite enough to fall.

“Take the bait, you kriffing hunk of junk,” he growled, shooting two more Raiders before they could get close to the former Shock Trooper. His eyes still wandered to look for Eklo, but he couldn’t see her. Dune reloaded and took a second shot, shattering one of the cockpit windows, before a sudden burst of crackling purple electricity suddenly appeared directly underneath the AT-ST. Somehow, Baceka had skillfully maneuvered herself right next to one of the legs, taking advantage of the pilot’s fumbling and ineffectual attempts to regain control of the walker, and had jammed one end of her electrostaff – now ramped up to what he could only assumed was the highest powers setting – into the unsteady joint.

The limb buckled under the onslaught of gravity and electricity as the loose edge of the pond beneath it crumbled and gave way. The AT-ST slid into the deepened water, tumbling down onto its side and was rendered immobile. He charged out of cover given the opportunity to strike, fishing at his belt for a second thermal detonator and activating it with every intention of tossing it into the walker’s cockpit. He narrowly dodged a shot from the still functional laser cannons while Baceka engaged with a pair of Raiders who had come to keep them away from the fallen AT-ST and it’s floundering pilot.

She dispatched them both as he charged by, leaping up onto the hull and pitching the active explosive in through the shattered window. The Mandalorian quickly turned and jumped down, scooping the unsuspecting Zabrak into his arms without a second thought and tossing the pair of them into the pond. Sinking down into the water and behind the packed wall of dirt with her still wrapped in his arms, huddled next to a thoroughly soaked Cara Dune, as the walker detonated into an inferno and shrapnel.

The three of them watched as what remained of the Raiders began to call a desperate retreat. Their mightiest weapon had now been destroyed and it seemed as though their leader had been killed in the battle. The village had won against all odds and a cheer went up amongst the now victorious villagers.

“Was that really the plan?” he gasped out, even as all three of them were trying to regain their breath.

Dune barked out a rough laugh between breaths. “Sure. It went somethin’ like that.”

A shift of body weight in his arms – momentarily forgotten – had his helmeted head snapping back around to the woman he still was holding in arms. Arms that still twitched and clenched and spasmed with coursing adrenaline from the fight and were apparently unwilling to relinquish their hold on the drenched and disheveled Zabrak in his grip. One wrapped around her waist entirely and the other with his gloved palm laid flat against the small of her back.

But Baceka Eklo did not seem to mind, or even acknowledge, being held as she turned and shifted.

She was attempting to steady her breathing for the moment, unaware that he was drinking in the sight of her without her knowledge. Committing it all to memory. Savoring the phantom-like sensation of her legs nearly straddling his thighs. Her full lips parted and mouth hanging slightly open. Chest rising and falling with enough strength that he could feel it even through his own chestplate. Her hair had broken free of its braid. The thick locks plastered against her skin and tangled around her horns even as she brought up her free hand to try to slick them back and away from her face. Her tan skin glistening with dozens of droplets of water and her vibrantly colored eyes squinting just slightly as she began to grin triumphantly.

She tapped a finger into the center of his helmet, the quiet click of her nail against the visor, as she teased, “I don’t recall anyone tossing a detonator into the mouth of the rancors on Sevarcos, _beroya_.”

“I wouldn’t know,” he found himself saying, his voice rasping and almost breathy. “I wasn’t there.”

He was flirting with her.

He. Was. Flirting.

_What the Void did he think he was doing?_

_No._

_Stop._

_Abort the mission._

Her smile grew larger and he thought that he could almost see a flush of color rising in her cheeks in the flickering orange light of the fire that was ripping through the remnants of the Imperial walker. He could feel the flare of heat – both of embarrassment and a burgeoning desire – growing stronger in his chest the longer he held her and admired her. A flush that climbed up his neck and settled like coals to burn underneath the mercifully hidden skin of his stubbled cheeks. The Mandalorian couldn’t even remember the last time he was this flustered and worked up in the presence of someone he was attracted to.

“A shame you weren’t, _burc'ya_.”

Friend… She called him friend again.

No.

He didn’t want to be her friend.

He wanted more.

He wanted her.

“Kriffing hells. You two need to get a damn room.”

Both of their heads snapped to the left to meet the smugly grinning face of Carasynthia Dune.

“We’re not…”

“We’re just…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” the dark-haired Human woman said with a wave of her hands, gesturing towards the shallower end of the pond with a nod of her head. “Can we get out of the pond now? I’m pretty sure I’ve got mud in places I’ve never had mud before. It’s not pleasant.”

He willed his reluctant arms to loosen and let go. Baceka separated herself from him and waded slowly through the water join the other woman on the far side of the pond. Both of them heaving themselves up and out. He followed after them, but found himself missing the Zabrak’s weight almost immediately.

Even later – despite seeking distraction with extinguishing fires, treating the injured and disposing of Klatooinian bodies with his waning strength – he couldn’t help but think about it endlessly. A nonstop loop in his mind even while lying on his back on his cot in the barn, finally wearing dry clothes and with the Child mercifully fast asleep in his cradle.

Questions that he didn’t have the answers to.

Questions that he didn’t want the answers to.

And those recent, precious memories – so wet and beautiful and alluring – that his slumbering mind all too willingly fleshed them out into sordid dreams. Fantasies of running his calloused hands over smooth and unexplored expanses of tanned skin. Dragging fingertips and his own nails along lines of black ink and the crisscross of silvered battle scars. Looking into a pair of violet and indigo eyes with his own from below, above and everyplace in between. Watching as they’re nearly swallowed again and again by the darkness of pupils blown wide in a heady combination of rising passion and mutual pleasure.

All the things that when he woke – aching in more ways than one – he knew he couldn’t have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we finally have the Fight on Sorgan. Hope you all enjoyed reading it. Big action time with a sprinkle of some emotional ups, some emotional downs and some decidedly hot-under-the-beskar moments. Next chapter is the last one to take place on Sorgan before we transition to some new stuff. Was incredibly happy that I actually finished this mostly on time because a certain Grand Admiral kept kicking down the door of my brain to demand that I write about him instead of sweet, sweet Din Djarin. How dare that handsome, genius Chiss take away so much of my Mandalorian inspiration!? A most heinous crime, indeed!  
> And as always an enormous thank you to everyone who leaves kudos, bookmarks, subscribes and leaves a comment. You're the best. And now that that's said and done I'm off to go and have my heart ripped out... I'M NOT READY FOR THE FINALE! Somebody hold me!


End file.
